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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23606332">Butter Wouldn’t Melt in His Mouth</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote'>OriginalCeenote</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aristocrat Bucky Barnes, Arranged Marriage, Courtship, Etiquette, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Angst, Misbehaving Livestock, Peasant Farmer Steve Rogers, Pining, Porn With Plot, Protective Bucky, SMUT SMUTTY SMUTTERNESS, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, Tonight We’re Gonna Party Like it’s 1839, otpprompt, regency au, runaway groom, the author is a horrible person</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:15:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>96,363</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23606332</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: James wanted what his parents had, but he wanted to do it in his own time, on his own effort. An arranged marriage sounded less than ideal, no matter what the possible benefits.</p>
<p>Obviously, his groom had similar opinions on the subject.</p>
<p>“Where’s Steven?” The piano music signaling his entry stopped when the assembled guests saw that the second groom wasn’t walking down the white brocade runner. </p>
<p>James’ stomach dropped into his shoes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes &amp; Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers &amp; Sam Wilson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>177</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>216</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Fandom Trumps Hate 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Not For All the Gold in the World</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Author’s Note: This is my auction prize for the Fandom Trumps Hate 2020 charity auction. My winner enjoys arranged marriage/marriage of convenience stories as much as I do, and particularly when Stucky is at its center. What could be more fun than that for me to write?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/183133495@N02/49888714071/in/dateposted-public/"></a>
  
</p><p>Taken from the Tumblr otpprompt:</p><p>Imagine your OTP has never met, but they find out that they are in an arranged marriage to each other. Person A (Steve) is outraged at the prospect of marrying someone they’ve never even met, but Person B has always been lonely (Bucky) and is looking forward to having a spouse, no matter whom it is. Person A runs away from home before the wedding, where they would have met each other for the first time, so B decides to track them down and court them without giving away that they were the person Person A left at the altar.</p><p>“Goodness, I could dig for gold in your ears,” Sarah muttered as she drilled the wet wash rag into her son’s ear with the tip of her finger. “How on earth did you get so filthy, Steven?”</p><p>“I’m not even that dirty,” he argued as he poked at the lump of his mother’s handmade lye soap resting on the edge of the bathtub. </p><p>“Young man, this water is absolutely <i>gray</i>. You looked like you were rolling around in the pigpen this afternoon when I found you.”</p><p>“I was just playing with Sam down in the creek. That’s just like taking a bath.”</p><p>Sarah let out an exasperated breath as she continued to scrub her son clean, sluicing the warm water down his back, scrubbing between his jutting scapula. Steven had a slight kyphosis that the town doctor might correct in time with adjustments and postural exercises, he’d told her, but Sarah held out little hope. </p><p>Certainly, her son had proven her wrong before, surviving all of the previous times that the odds were stacked against him. Rheumatic fever, asthma, allergies to just about <i>everything</i> now that they were living out in the country, even though the doctor cheerfully assured her that the fresh air was the best thing for his fragile lungs. Diphtheria nearly killed him. Joseph, before he died, assured her “Our son is a tough little mite. Scrappier than anyone would guess to look at him.” There was such pride in his voice as he stroked his son’s cap of towhead waves, still damp from fever. Joseph loved their only child so much, and Sarah regretted that he would never see him grow into a man like him.</p><p>“The water might look clean, darling, but it doesn’t help if you jump through every puddle and go running through the tall grass and climb through every bush and hedge and go up every tree on your way home, does it?”</p><p>She poked him under his armpit, making him giggle, and she tickled him again just to enjoy the tinkling sound. She handed him a small, wooden toy boat and let him float it on the water’s surface. Sprigs of lavender also floated on the water, an aid to bedtime. The sun crept down in the sky an hour prior, and they were chatting by lantern light.</p><p>“Mama?”</p><p>“Yes, sweetheart?”</p><p>“When is Papa coming back?”</p><p>Her smile faltered as she cleaned under his fingernails, tsking over a little bruise on his left ring finger knuckle. “He’s not coming back, sweetheart. We talked about this. Remember when the vicar came to visit last spring?”</p><p>Solemn blue eyes looked up at her, then flitted away. His rosebud mouth grew tight. Sad.</p><p>“He’s in heaven with the angels, and he’s watching over us, Steven. And he’s so proud of you.”</p><p>“I want Papa back,” he told her in a small voice.</p><p>“So do I. But he sees you. And he loves you. When you’re playing with Samuel, he sees how fast you run and how high up into the trees that you climb. He saw you catch that big, warty toad.”</p><p>That made him smile, and she gave his nose a fond tweak. “He loves you.”</p><p>“I see him when I sleep, sometimes,” he admitted.</p><p>“In your dreams?”</p><p>“Uh-huh.”</p><p>“Those must be very nice dreams.”</p><p>“Uh-huh.”</p><p>“Let me wash your hair.”</p><p>He whined a little, but Sarah tutted at him and scrubbed his hair with more of the lye soap and shielded his eyes when he tipped his head forward so she could rinse it using the small china pitcher.</p><p>Six was too young to become fatherless.</p><p>“What else do you dream about, sweetheart?”</p><p>He shrugged his narrow shoulders and made a thoughtful noise. “Monsters, sometimes. They chase me. They push me down and call me a blight.”</p><p>That drew Sarah up tall where she knelt. “A <i>blight</i>??? Where on earth did you hear that awful word?”</p><p>Her son froze, and he stared down at his boat, exhaling heavily through his nose. “At school.”</p><p>“From the children?”</p><p>“Gilmore,” Steven admitted. “His papa told him that’s what I was.”</p><p>Sarah gently took his chin and tilted it up, making him look at her. She gave him a soft smile. “Steven. It’s all right to tell me if someone is treating you poorly.”</p><p>He tried to look away, but she made him face her again. “I won’t be angry at <i>you</i>,” she promised. “I just don’t want my sweet boy to be upset, or for anyone to ever, ever hurt you, darling.”</p><p>She kissed his sweet little cheek. “You know that, don’t you?”</p><p>“I know that, Mama.”</p><p>“Good. That Gilmore fellow sounds like he has all the charm of that toad that you caught and threw back.”</p><p>Steven made a face, then nodded enthusiastically.</p><p><i>His father is a toad, as well,</i> Sarah decided privately. The nerve of that blasted man, voicing an opinion like that in front of a child. Sarah had a mind to give him a much needed piece of it the next time he stopped by the pharmacy. The man acted like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, for heaven’s sake… overbearing, pompous buffoon. <i>If I wasn’t raised as a lady, I would spit in his tonic. That would fix him.</i></p><p>Joseph Rogers was a large, hearty man with a bold disposition and stubborn opinions who brooked no nonsense from those he had dealings with, but Sarah knew him to be a soft touch behind closed doors. It was Sarah Rogers herself who owned razor-sharp wit and a lack of patience for wagging tongues. And she had no mercy to spare for anyone who approached her only son with anything but respect. Hazel Frost suggested that Sarah wasn’t feeding Steven properly, or that he simply had “bad humors” and that was why he was such a sickly child and “so far behind.” Sarah’s folded lace fan found itself upside the back of Hazel’s bonnet, knocking it askew.</p><p>“Oh, dear. Dearest Hazel. My apologies, dear. There was a wasp that landed upon your lovely bonnet. And it is lovely, did you get that in Paris?”</p><p>“Er. No. I happened upon it in the millinery over in Kent.”</p><p>“Fetching. It’s <i>fetching.</i>”</p><p>Sarah’s smile was benign; her voice dripped with ice and venom.</p><p>Hazel backed away and reached for her daughters, Cordelia and Adrienne; the older of the two held her baby, Emma, a plump little thing overswaddled in ruffles and ribbons. “Come along, girls. Tell Mrs. Rogers good day.”</p><p>“Good day, ma’am.” As they walked away, Sarah heard Adrienne insist in shrill tones, “Mama, there was no wasp…”</p><p>Gilmore. If memory served Sarah correctly, was an unpleasant child. Snide. Churlish. Always sniggering behind his hand with the other young lads and teasing anyone whom he saw as weak, or lacking. Sarah wouldn’t tolerate anyone teasing her son or repeating their parents’ bad judgment for his edification.</p><p>“Let’s get you all settled in.” Sarah bundled Steven up, and he padded back to his room, skin rosy and glowing from the bath and hair slick as a seal’s. Sarah dried him off and dressed him in a heavy flannel nightgown. She then took a hot brick from the fireplace, holding it with the long, metal tongs, and she ran it over the cool bedsheets to warm them before he climbed in. He smiled up at her in contentment. Sarah kissed him and smoothed back his hair, but as she rose to extinguish the lantern and leave, he stopped her.</p><p>“Mama, can I have a story?” His voice was plaintive, and he gave her that look that she could never deny, blast it. Sarah was exhausted and had an early day in the morning, but…</p><p>“Which one would you like, dear?”</p><p>Steve’s eyes lit up, and he hopped right up out of bed and ran to the book shelf. He pulled down the heavy, beautifully embossed, leatherbound edition of <i>Grimm’s Fairy Tales</i> and scrambled back into bed just as quickly, prying the book open to the page he’d finally dog-eared after asking his mother to read it so often. He handed her the open book, bouncing eagerly until she sat down on the edge of the bed.</p><p>Sarah finally leaned up against the wall, stretching out her legs, and Steven huddled against her, smiling down at the ink illustration of a girl standing next to a pile of coins.</p><p>“Mother Hulda,” Sarah pronounced with a flourish. “You seem to love this one so.”</p><p>“It’s my favorite, Mama, especially the part with the tar!” he chortled.</p><p>Sarah feigned astonishment. “You don’t like the part where the good little sister goes home with all of the gold as her reward for her hard work and kindness?”</p><p>“Uh-uh,” he asserted. “I like the gold part, but the other girl was mean. I bet she looked funny walking home all covered in tar. She wouldn’t be lazy and so mean after that.”</p><p>That reasoning was fair, and Sarah wasn’t going to expound on the ruinous effect of pitch and how hard it was to remove it from skin, or hair, or how it virtually destroyed fabric.</p><p>“We never like it when people are mean,” Sarah offered instead.</p><p>“Uh-uh. Can we read it, now?”</p><p>Clearly, her son was in a mood to see justice served in a hail of tar and public shame. <i>So be it.</i> “Once, a widow had two daughters; one was pretty and industrious. The other was ugly and lazy.”</p><p>Steve smiled whenever she reached his favorite parts, giggling whenever Sarah read Mother Hulda’s lines in a querulous, crackling voice.</p><p>These were her favorite moments with her son, in their lonely, crumbling little cottage. Sarah wouldn’t trade them for all the gold in the world.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Just Out of Grasp</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The new boy was taller than Steve (hardly surprising), wore much finer clothing than anyone else’s (except Emma, perhaps), and his expression was shrewd. Wary.</p><p>Sam asked the question before it could leave Steve’s tongue. “Do you think he’ll play with us?”</p><p>Steve gestured uncertainly, toying with his quill. He leaned in close and admitted on a loud whisper, “I don’t know, Sam.” Then, “I just hope he’s not <i>mean.</i>”</p><p>Author’s Note: More exposition and back story. Sorry for the initial bit of kidfic, I can never help myself, especially when it comes to Stucky. Picturing miniature Steve just gives me warm fuzzies.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>More exposition and back story. Sorry for the initial bit of kidfic, I can never help myself, especially when it comes to Stucky. Picturing miniature Steve just gives me warm fuzzies.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve and Samuel lingered outside on the mildly chilly, hazy morning, drawing pictures in the dirt with a stick.</p><p>“Don’t kneel down in that, Steve,” Sam chided, elbowing his bosom friend sharply. “You’ll get dirty.”</p><p>“No, I won’t,” he argued back.</p><p>“Will, too. Don’t get in trouble with your mama. My mama would have my hide if I came back with mud on my trousers.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Steve lied, because Sarah had certainly made equally dire warnings about the state of his clothes and the effort it took to keep his clean. Now that he was older, she made him help hang the washing outside and scrub the badly soiled things on the washing board. His own smaller, tender knuckles reddened after only washing a few things, and Steve appreciated his mother’s efforts more, but perhaps not so much as to take up cleaner, quieter pursuits. It was still too much fun going out into the muck with Sam and the rest of their tightly knit circle. Sam had appearances to keep up, since his father was the local parish’s vicar, but he was drawn to Steve and his mischief like a moth to the brightest flame. The two of them were thick as thieves. Sarah was a frequent visitor to Darlene Wilson’s front parlor before Joseph passed away, and just as often ever since. Steve and Sam often had free run of her kitchen, since her housekeeper indulged their curiosity and let them help her create the family’s meals and baked goods, watching with a keen eye as they rolled out the dough with small hands.</p><p>Sarah and Steve enjoyed a simple existence, even though it was lonelier for the lack of a father, a husband. They both missed his laughter and stories, his bold presence and his warmth. No matter how quietly Steven would creep into his study just to watch him as he read the post or filled and lit pipe, his father would hear him and slowly turn, cocking his head. Sunlight danced in the burnished gold strands of his beard where it shone inside through the gap in the curtains.</p><p>“Is that my favorite little spy?” he would inquire. Steve would fail to suppress his giggles behind his hand every time. “Do I hear a spy sneaking up on me inside my home? Where, oh where could he - AHA!” And Joseph would snatch aside the curtains, or the cushions or the ottoman, ousting his son from his hiding place, and he would pounce on him to wrestle with him, tickling him breathless. Sarah would find them both tousled and rosy-cheeked, nagging them not to knock over her fine vase or upset the potted plants. But the mayhem was comforting and familiar; she missed the laughter and her husband’s antics. Her son was quieter and didn’t smile anywhere near as often since, even as his memories of his father’s death, and the grim details, grew dimmer with time.</p><p>Steve heeded Sam’s advice this time, stooping down and sparing the knees of his trousers for now.</p><p>“That’s good,” Sam remarked as Steve drew the flower from memory.</p><p>“It’s one of Mama’s lilies,” he informed Sam. “It’s a tiger lily.” He drew out the small spots, stabbing the end of the stick in the dirt to add detail. “She likes the orange ones the best.”</p><p>“My mama loves daffodils,” Sam informed him easily. “Yellow is her favorite.” Steve didn’t doubt it; Mrs. Wilson always showed up to services on the Sabbath in pale yellow frocks and matching ribbons tied to her bonnets. “She says it’s a happy color.”</p><p>Steve thought about it for a moment. A vision of his mother danced through his memory. Of Sarah and Joseph at a picnic. His father tucked a white daisy with a yellow center behind his mother’s ear, making her laugh as she cut slices of cake for them. Dandelions burst stubbornly through the grass, blowing in the breeze. She wiped Steve’s mouth with a creamy yellow cloth napkin. Joseph helped him lift a kite into the air, finally catching a strong enough breeze that sent it sailing up into the sky; Sarah embroidered the lightweight silk with a cheerful yellow star.</p><p>“I think it is, too,” he agreed quietly.</p><p> Steve continued to sketch in the dirt. Sam, growing bored, moved on to play with Scott, Gabriel, and James, who informed them on his first day of school that he preferred his middle name of Logan. The boys dug into Logan’s small pouch made of velvet rags and fished out a handful of the tiny, tin toy soldiers and lined them up, reenacting the battle at Waterloo. Steve continued to sketch by himself, moving on from the stick and soil to a small journal tucked into his pocket. He scratched out a rough drawing of a bird that pecked around in the gravel for bugs, appreciating its bright blue feathers and spiky crest. He sat down on an abandoned, upended tin pail that rested against the wall of the schoolhouse, chewing on the corner of his lip as he worked. </p><p>A trio of little girls approached him, hovering over him and casting a shadow over his page. “What’re you doing?” Ororo demanded to know.</p><p>“M’drawing,” he mumbled as he tried to look past them, but the bird started to hop off. “You’re getting in the way.”</p><p>“You don’t have to be mean,” Sharon chided, but she stepped aside, enabling his view. Emma failed to take the hint and she hunkered down, despite that the squatting like that in her dress wasn’t ladylike in the least. She poked at the page.</p><p>“That’s not bad,” she informed him. “I bet my big brother Chris can draw better.”</p><p>“Only because he’s <i>big</i>,” Ororo pointed out. “Steven can draw.” Steve didn’t mind Ororo, since the town gossips occasionally had a field day when they spoke about her family, too, and the unfortunate circumstances that befell them. She became the ward to Charles Xavier, the eccentric professor that lived on the edge of town with his longtime companion, Erik Lensherr, after her parents perished in a carriage accident when she was four. She had unusual, yet striking looks; she was darker skinned like Sam, but her eyes were a bright, crystal blue instead of Sam’s deep, warm brown, and her hair was a stunning, platinum white. Gilbert’s father didn’t call her a blight, at least, but he did suggest that she was a changeling, and likely cursed. Steve and Sam decided they would be her friend out of mere spite.</p><p>“What else can you draw?” Sharon asked as she leaned over him, and the ends of her long, sandy curls dusted his shoulder. Steve fanned them off, but he politely turned the pages of his journal to show her. She “oohed” in delight at the pictures of animals, including a small, spotted fawn that was surprisingly detailed. “She’s darling,” she gushed.</p><p>“I like that one, too, but I still think Chris could draw it better.”</p><p>“Maybe you should tell him to draw it, then,” Ororo suggested. She walked away, pleased to have had the last word. Emma and Ororo could be bosom friends or bitter enemies, from one moment to the next, fast enough to make one’s head spin. Emma made a disgruntled noise and trotted after her, but before she could take umbrage, the teacher rang the bell, and the children raised a chorus of disappointed cries and lined up to go inside. Sharon lingered near Steve, until Sam jostled around her and collected him, tugging his best friend away.</p><p>“She has cooties,” Sam reminded her.</p><p>“I know that,” Steve murmured, and his cheeks warmed with embarrassment. He always felt self conscious whenever other children surrounded him like that, like he was more vulnerable; sometimes, the monsters in his dreams also wore bows in their hair. They marched inside, and the boys hung their jackets and hats on the coat racks and hooks along the back walls before filing into their seats. </p><p>“Take out your arithmetic primers, please,” Mrs. Walters asked, and there was a shuffling around the room and the slap of books hitting the desks as they complied. Steven didn’t mind numbers, and Sam had a real gift for them, but he enjoyed reading so far, and he received high marks for his penmanship, writing out rows of neat, copperplate script with no trouble.</p><p>They recited addition equations in unison as Mrs. Walters guided her pointed over the ones scrawled in chalk on the board. She began the lesson by giving examples.</p><p>“Who wants to tell me how many apples I would have if I brought two of them in my lunch, and if Emma gave me two more?”</p><p>Naturally, Emma raised her hand, straining over the chance to answer it before anyone else. Mrs. Walters complied, tipping the pointer in her direction.</p><p>“Four,” she called out.</p><p>“Correct. Now, if I was a farmer, and if I started out with three nice apple trees, and if I decided to go out and plant three more, how many would I have?” Emma raised her hand again, but this time, she gave Scott a turn.</p><p>“Seven?” he asked, only mildly certain. She nodded and smiled.</p><p>“Very good, dear.”</p><p>She carried out the rest of the lesson with a few brief diversions from the real subject; Logan asked if any of the apples were to be made into turnovers or pie. Scott asserted that he didn’t plan to share any of his apples if he didn’t have to, and the room threatened to dissolve into chaos until Mrs. Walters rapped her pointer on the desk.</p><p>“Let’s move on from apples,” she suggested. “Let’s put away the arithmetic primers, and-” She paused at the low knock at the door of the schoolhouse, and she swept out from behind her desk in a swish of muslin skirts. “Read quietly,” she told them. She went to the door and cracked it open, and the students craned themselves around in their seats, craving a glimpse of their unannounced guest. Mrs. Walters stepped out of the room, out onto the steps, quietly closing the door behind her. As she walked out to greet the man dressed in a smart gray suit and pinstriped waistcoat, the children watched him step aside and usher a young boy forward, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. He smiled brightly and was animated as he spoke to Mrs. Walters. The children in the back of the room crept out of their seats and pressed hands and faces against the window, trying to see and hear the conversation.</p><p>“He looks your age, Logan,” Sharon informed him.</p><p>“So?” he huffed.</p><p>“Well, he does.”</p><p>“Let’s see,” Sam urged, and he tugged Steve out of his seat and found a step stool so he could see over his friends’ shoulders out the window, until Sam finally pulled him to the front of the group for a better look.</p><p>Steve’s eyes were riveted on the boy, a miniature version of his father. He had a wiry build and gleaming, wavy dark hair with glints of auburn in the direct sunlight. Fair complected, with a spray of freckles across his nose and cheeks, and when he glanced toward the window, Steve noticed his eyes, a clear, grayish blue, pearly as opals.</p><p>The new boy was taller than Steve (hardly surprising), wore much finer clothing than anyone else’s (except Emma, perhaps), and his expression was shrewd. Wary.</p><p>Mrs. Walters saw the class clustered around the windows, and she made shooing motions to send them all back to their seats. There was a scuffle as they all hurried back to their desks, but Steve lingered a moment longer. He watched the boy and offered a glimmer of a smile and a small wave. The boy removed his hand from his pocket and waved back hesitantly, as though he wondered if it was allowed.</p><p>Steve went back to the desk and tucked himself in next to Sam, thoroughly intrigued now.</p><p>Sam asked the question before it could leave Steve’s tongue. “Do you think he’ll play with us?”</p><p>Steve gestured uncertainly, toying with his quill. He leaned in close and admitted on a loud whisper, “I don’t know, Sam.” Then, “I just hope he’s not <i>mean.</i>”</p><p>“Me, too,” he admitted. He didn’t mention out loud that he hoped he wouldn’t want to spend his time with Gill, Obadiah, Victor, or some of the older boys who always teased them during lunch. </p><p>They straightened up in their seats, and the buzz of chatter around the classroom came to an abrupt halt as Mrs. Walters entered, ushering her newest charge inside. Steve silently treated himself to a longer look this time. Yes, this new boy had on much nicer clothes than his, and he topped him in height by at least three inches, or perhaps four. He automatically removed his gray wool cap and straightened out his hair, smoothing it with his fingers. </p><p>“He has pretty eyes,” Sharon whispered to her cousin Peggy. </p><p>“He probably still has cooties,” she replied on a whisper, but she quietly agreed.</p><p>“Timothy, you don’t have a neighbor yet. Slide over and make room for James. Class, this is James Barnes. He is new to our school.”</p><p>Timothy Dugan scooted over to the left, making room for James on the aisle seat. Timothy was taller, older, and one of the loudest boys in class, boisterous but not unkind. He was aggressively freckled and had brassy red hair. </p><p>“Hey. Do you like toy soldiers?” he murmured. “Or marbles?”</p><p>James nodded.</p><p>“Come over with us at lunch,” he suggested.</p><p>“If the two of you are finished socializing, I would like to start our reading,” Mrs. Walters suggested.</p><p>James blushed and ducked his face for a moment, but then he straightened up and paid attention to the lesson. </p><p>Steve followed along with the lesson with some distractions. Sam elbowed him lightly.</p><p>“Pay attention,” he hissed.</p><p>“I am.”</p><p>Slightly.</p><p>The new boy’s presence intrigued him. Steve kept sneaking looks at him, quickly averting his eyes every time James looked up. Steve’s skin prickled hotly and true bashfulness swamped him. By the fifth time, James caught him, and Steve’s breath felt trapped in his chest. A thrilling little chill of panic ran over his flesh when their eyes met, and James’ brows beetled together. That made Steve jerk his head forward immediately, determined to face front for the rest of the day if it meant his heart would stop pounding.</p><p>Moments later, he wondered what had just occurred.</p><p>James huffed under his breath.</p><p>“What’s the matter?” Timothy asked.</p><p>“Nothing.” Then, “Is the little one over there always like that? He’s acting odd. He keeps looking over here.”</p><p>“Just curious like a cat. That’s what my mum says,” Timothy mentioned on a whisper. “He’s all right, for one of the young ones. He’s scrappy, but he’s not bad at playing ball, when he’s here.”</p><p>That gave James pause. “Are there days when he’s not?”</p><p>“Uh-huh. He’s sickly,” Timothy shrugged, as though that explained everything.</p><p>James hummed.</p><p>Mrs. Walters looked up at the sound. “James? Did you have a question?”</p><p><i>Not about what we’re doing right now. About the little one up front.</i> But James knew that wouldn’t be polite. And he noticed him glance back at him one last time, because now that the teacher’s attention was on James, too, it was okay.</p><p>There was no hostility or amusement in his face. Just friendly interest. James decided he didn’t have a problem with that. </p><p>“I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t.”</p><p>“All right, then. Let’s get back to what we were doing, shall we?”</p><p>Mrs. Walters didn’t know she was to function with all of these interruptions. It would be a long day of school, indeed.</p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>The weather held while the children took their luncheon and recess outside, leaving Mrs. Walters to herself inside for some precious peace. She worked on her lesson plan and cleaning up the room while various games carried on in the small field surrounding the schoolhouse. The sky overhead was a hazy blue and graying around the edges; the clouds rolled overhead in a constantly shifting tumble, uncertain of where to throw shadow.</p><p>Steve and Sam managed to start a ball game with the other younger boys. The leather ball was battered and worn, but it was Scott’s prized possession. A dead tree trunk served as goal for Logan’s side; an old wooden crate sufficed for Scott’s. James initially considered going over with the younger boys when they huddled together and broke into teams, but Timothy tugged his arm, bringing him over to their side before he could choose. </p><p>“Come with us,” he urged. “We’re gonna win, I bet.”</p><p>“You said that one was good,” James reminded him, nodding to Steve.</p><p>“Little Steve Rogers?” he scoffed. “Good for being a little squirt, but not better than <i>us</i>.”</p><p>That gave James a name for him, finally. He saw him get up from the pail where he was sitting and tuck a small book into his pocket. James was immediately curious about its contents. He jogged over eagerly, bumping elbows with Sam, the one who boastfully called out, “You all have two left feet!”</p><p>“We’re not here to dance!” Logan called back. “We’re here to play ball and to knock you on your ars-” </p><p>Timothy shushed him, eyes wide with alarm, even though he was grinning. “Don’t curse, don’t let Mrs. Walters hear!” Logan chuckled and shook his head, shrugging.</p><p>“It’s gonna be easy,” he assured him. “It’s almost not fair.”</p><p>On the other side of the field, the girls played with small teacups and chipped saucers, dollies, and jump rope. They watched  the boys furtively, giggling and murmuring behind their hands. </p><p>“They’re always so rough,” Emma remarked as she watched Sam get knocked aside. He scrambled quickly to his feet and jostled his way back to the ball, managing to kick it away from James Morita, who preferred to go by Jim. </p><p>Ororo winced as she watched Steve get shoved aside just as roughly, but he shoved Gilmore back without hesitation. “I don’t like him,” she pronounced.</p><p>“He’s good at every single game,” Emma said, as though that excused his behavior.</p><p>“He’s mean,” Ororo corrected her. Gilmore attempted to play “keep away” with her favorite dollie once. <i>Once.</i> She kicked him firmly in the shins with her best high-buttoned leather boots and cured him of any future urges. The lecture from her adoptive fathers was tedious but gentle. If Ororo had it to do over, she would gladly kick him again. </p><p>Sam managed a goal to a mixture of raucous cheers and taunts. James was impressed.</p><p>“Not too bad,” he offered, accompanying the praise with a friendly shove. Sam grinned and jostled him back. <i>He’s not mean. Now Steve doesn’t have to worry,</i> he reasoned. </p><p>“Bet I can do it again!”</p><p>“Bet I will first!”</p><p>They ran the field as the winds whipped at their clothing, making jackets flap and threatening to blow off wool caps. Steve managed to edge himself into the fray, kicking the ball loose from the clutch of players and moving it nimbly toward Logan’s goal.</p><p>“Hey, shrimp! Stop him before he makes it to the other side!”</p><p>“He’s fast,” Timothy huffed. “Sneaky little squirt!”</p><p>“Run, Steven! KICK IT! GO!” Peggy called out from the edge of the field, no longer interested in dolls or jumping rope. Sharon clutched the coiled rope against her mid-section and watched, just as rapt. “He’s going to do it!”</p><p>“GO, STEVE!” young Darcy called out.</p><p>But before he could deliver the kick that would score him the goal, Gilmore tripped him, then shoved him in the back, sending him sprawling. Steve felt the sharp jolt of impact and the burn of his knees scraping the cruel ground, unprotected by his short trousers. They stung as he staggered to his feet while Gilmore kicked the ball toward the opposite goal.</p><p>“That’s too rough!” Sharon cried.</p><p>“Mrs. Walters! LOOK!” Darcy added, hurrying back toward the schoolhouse steps.</p><p>Inside, Jennifer Walters sighed gustily. “Good heavens. No rest for the weary or the wicked, I supposed. What’s going on with these rascals, now?” But she saw Darcy tripping up the steps, dark curls bobbing, looking panicked, and she opened the door quickly.</p><p>“What’s wrong, dear?”</p><p>“Steven fell down,” she told her. “He’s bleeding!”</p><p>“Oh, good heavens!” She practically flew down the steps, picking up her skirts, the heels of her boots sinking slightly into the field as she ran. Steven was dusting off his trousers rather futilely and gingerly probing his scraped knees, attempting to pick at the embedded blades of grass and bits of gravel.</p><p>“Oh, goodness, no, don’t do that, Steven. Let me help. Let’s get you straightened out and cleaned up. How did this happen?”</p><p>The boys gave pause when their teacher arrived, shifting and looking guilty. Steve stubbornly stayed mum.</p><p>“He was pushed,” James said suddenly.</p><p>“I tripped,” Steve insisted, suddenly nervous and at a loss. </p><p>James opened his mouth to argue with him, but Steve shook his head. His expression was pleading, and his hand was fisted at his side. James’ brows beetled again.</p><p>Steve felt embarrassed in that instant, torn between wanting to take umbrage against Gilmore to save face, and knowing he had to follow his teacher’s rules regarding fighting (that he <i>shouldn’t</i>). But this, somehow. This was just… <i>worse</i>. James looked like he might want to be a friend. Would he want to be, now, if…?</p><p>“Weakling.”</p><p>Gilmore let the word slip past his lips at a low mutter, then clapped his hand over his mouth, ducking his teacher’s scrutiny.</p><p>“What was that?” Mrs. Walters demanded. “Who said that?”</p><p>Steve’s eyes burned, and then his vision blurred. He needed to look away for a moment. Away from James, from Sam, from the girls where they just stared.</p><p>“No, he isn’t!”</p><p><i>James.</i> </p><p>There were rules, but then, there were <i>rules.</i></p><p>Unspoken ones. Common knowledge that defied the need for explanation or elaboration. Silent tenets that children simply understood, without question.</p><p>Chief among them was that no child wanted to be a tattletale. Being right wasn’t worth being <i>lonely</i>. </p><p>Steve was already small. Already sickly. And he refused to let the schoolyard hear him bleat about any wrongdoing that he’d suffered, even if Gil was likely to only do it again. Sam quietly came up to him and handed him something. Steve looked down and saw his drawing journal.</p><p>“Here. It fell out of your pocket,” he offered as he pressed it into his friend’s hand and gave his arm an awkward pat. Sam’s eyes flitted over him, asking the silent question <i>Are you all right?</i> Sam was the vicar’s son, and <i>Playground violence didn’t become him.</i> Sam and Steve bemoaned Sam’s status and its own unique set of rules while they fished in the creek and poked at crawling insects. He’d received his fair share of tedious yet gentle lectures bolstered by Scripture, yet Darlene and Paul Wilson knew they had their hands full every time they saw that glint in their son’s eye. </p><p>“Thank you,” Steve whispered. His nose was running a little, and Sam reached into his own pocket for a cotton handkerchief and pushed it at him. Sam had stood up for Steve before. He’d stood between Steve and Gilmore, or any of the other older boys who had ever pushed him down, and every time, Steve grew upset. Sam was familiar with how Steve reacted when he felt that hot prick of shame. <i>I can do this by myself, Sam. Next time, leave me alone, Sam. I can get by fine on my own, Sam.</i> It hurt more to be rebuffed by Steve than it did to watch someone mistake his small size for weakness. Yet it still crushed Sam to watch him <i>hurt</i>.</p><p>Sam backed away, then, not wanting to crowd him, because, that, too, made things worse, somehow. It always did.</p><p>Darcy didn’t agree. She ran up to him and pulled on his hand, tugging insistently. “Come inside, we have to get you cleaned up.”</p><p>“A brilliant suggestion,” Mrs. Walters agreed, and she carefully collected Steve against her side and walked him inside the schoolhouse. “The rest of you have five more minutes outside.” Darcy let go of him, then, to Steve’s everlasting relief.</p><p>There was a chorus of “Awwwww’s!” around the field, but as soon as their teacher disappeared back into the schoolhouse, Gilmore, Victor, and the rest of the older students snickered amongst themselves. Except for a paltry few.</p><p>“Didn’t have to shove him around,” Timothy scolded, and Gilmore shook him off, reaching out to slap the ball from Scott’s grasp and kick it around.</p><p>“I got the ball away from him, didn’t I? That’s the point.”</p><p>“Not like that,” James argued.</p><p>“What? Are you going to stick up for the squirt? He <i>is</i> a weakling. Maybe <i>you</i> should change his nappies for him!”</p><p>“He’s little, but he’s faster than you and better with the ball,” James told him, nonplussed. “He doesn’t need me to change his nappies if he can make you chase around after him like a big, dumb clod!”</p><p>“What? You’re going to stand here and fight for him, fancy boy? Huh?” Gil was unimpressed. He gave James a sharp poke in the chest, pinching the lapel of his jacket and rubbing it before dropping it, making a face as though James was filthy. He attempted to kick the ball again and restart their interrupted game for the few minutes that they had left, but James grabbed his upper arm, squeezing it sharply. Gilmore shook him off, but James shoved him, and his face was twisted up with indignation, cheeks suffused with color. The words “fancy boy” lit a fire under him, and James decided that he, and Steven, had enough for one day.</p><p>Inside the schoolhouse, Darcy stuck to Steven like a shadow, watching him with big, worried eyes. </p><p>“I don’t like bullies,” she whispered to Steve. “Tell her,” she insisted.</p><p>“Mind your business. It’s fine,” he whispered back. “Don’t tell.”</p><p>“I <i>have</i> to,” she rasped, voice slightly louder and perhaps magnified by her attempt to cup her hand around her mouth. Mrs. Walters stood off to the side with a basin of water that she’d pumped outside, ,and she dipped a handkerchief into it and wrung it out. She pretended not to listen to the children, hoping the culprit’s name would shake loose, like an acorn from a tree. Even though she could hazard a guess.</p><p>But then, a ruckus outside caught her attention, and she ran over to the window.</p><p>“Goodness <i>gracious</i>,” she hissed. She dropped the handkerchief back into the bowl and hurried back outside. The children were crowded together in the yard around the two currently wrestling on the ground.</p><p>James had the upper hand, clutching Gilmore Hodge’s collar in his fist and decking him soundly and repeatedly in the face. “Good Lord,” she muttered, “this won’t do at all, not a’tall… JAMES! JAMES BARNES! BOYS! Stop that fighting AT ONCE!”</p><p>She heard Gilmore’s urgent little cries and yelps as he tried to push James off, as well as James’ gasping little huffs that escaped him, almost growling with rage.</p><p>“Leave him alone!” he panted. “You leave Steve <i>alone,</i> you ratbag!”</p><p>“James! No more! That’s enough! No fighting! And such <i>language</i>, I cannot abide! Break it up. That’s enough! ENOUGH!” She tugged them apart and managed to pull Gilmore to his feet. His nose was bleeding and his cheek was puffy with the beginnings of a deep bruise, and perhaps a black eye. James was panting and just as disheveled. His fine wool jacket was now torn at the sleeve and missing a button, his cap was lying in the dirt, and he had a split lower lip. His cheeks were dirty and tracked with tears, and the two boys glared at each other accusingly.</p><p>“Recess is over,” Mrs. Walters pronounced.</p><p>By the time she got Steven’s scraped knees cleaned and bandaged, she decided that both older boys had enough time to stand in the back corners of the classroom to cool off. She called James over to her first.</p><p>“Let me look at you, young man. Come here.” She took him aside to the back store room and gently probed his wound, making him jerk his head back and hiss. “I’m going to clean it. I also have a bit of clove oil, so it won’t sting so much. This is unbecoming behavior for your first day of school with us, or <i>any</i> day of school with us, James. Do you understand?”</p><p>He nodded soberly, then looked down, and a low sigh escaped him.</p><p>“I will have to tell your father.”</p><p>He winced, but then he nodded, still unable to look her in the eye.</p><p>“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Then you will have to tell Gilmore.”</p><p>“Then, I’m <i>not</i> sorry.”</p><p>His tone was so vehement that she nearly dropped the small vial of clove oil.</p><p>“Then, you will need to be punished.”</p><p>“Mrs. Walters?”</p><p>“Yes, James?”</p><p>“Steve isn’t a weakling.”</p><p>It was a quiet statement. Insistent. Earnest. And it gave Jennifer her culprit, confirming what she’d already suspected.</p><p>“He’s not,” he added, before he looked away again.</p><p>She ushered him back to his seat before she took Gilmore aside to see to his bruises and cuts. James kept sneaking looks at Steve, but this time, the small towhead in the front row of desks refused to look at him.</p><p>Steve sat with his hands folded atop his desk, fuming and miserable. His expression was stoic, the only immediate sign of his discomfiture was the pink color that rose up into his ears.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Sarah arrived at the schoolhouse to collect her son and exclaimed in alarm, “What on earth happened, sweetheart? Look at your poor little knees!”</p><p>“I was playing ball, Mama.”</p><p>“Goodness. We might be able to clean those stockings, it would be a shame if they got ruined,” she said, noticing the scant blood stains on the dark, knee-high socks. She noticed that her son was holding a lot of tension in his shoulders, and his lips were tight. Sarah reached down and stroked his bangs out of his eyes. “We need to return to the pharmacy for a while, so I can finish up for the day, Steven.”</p><p>He nodded, taking her hand.</p><p>“Let me say goodbye to your teacher.”</p><p>Sarah paused at the foot of the steps, waiting for Mrs. Walters to finish talking with Ororo’s guardian, Dr. Lensherr. He nodded to her as he left.</p><p>“This was a more eventful day than we thought,” he told her.</p><p>“I’m afraid it was. Have a lovely evening, Doctor.”</p><p>“Mrs. Rogers.” He tipped his hat and ushered Ororo toward his wagon. He lifted her up into the seat. Emma’s father, Winston, arrived on foot for his daughter, as they lived less than a mile from the schoolhouse in the largest house on the street. The children all slowly filed out of the yard, returning home with siblings. With fathers.</p><p>Sarah met Mrs. Walters’ kind brown eyes and waited for her to greet her. “We had a rough day. The boys had a scuffle over a ball game.”</p><p>“A scuffle?”</p><p>“Your son had an avid supporter in our newest student, James.”</p><p>“James?”</p><p>“Goodness, yes, another boy named James. That name is all the rage, apparently. I haven’t had the chance to ask him how he likes to be called. Have you, Steven?” she asked, but he blew out an exasperated breath.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Well, then! All right. Perhaps he will share that with you another day.”</p><p>Steve tugged on his mother’s hand, hanging on it, practically attempting to shake her am off her shoulder until she hissed at him to stop. “Settle down a moment, Steven. Let me finish talking.”</p><p>“Gilmore is old enough to know better, and I made sure the punishment fit the crime. Both boys had to take on the classroom chores and missed out on artwork and free reading time privileges.”</p><p>“And James?”</p><p>“He received chores, too. Neither of them escaped time in the corner.”</p><p>Sarah nodded shrewdly. “I’m sure that went over well.”</p><p>“Children can be impulsive. One has to move fast when they play together in large groups.” Then she paused when she saw George Barnes preparing to leave with his son in their large, gleaming carriage.</p><p>“Goodbye, James! We will see you tomorrow.” She waved, but James paused at the carriage door. He pleaded with his father for a moment and then broke free, running back to the schoolhouse. He stared at Steve and reached down into his pocket.</p><p>“Please take this,” he implored as he handed him a small, folded scrap of paper. “Please, just take it.” He shoved it at Steve, who hesitated, but James reached for his hand and tucked the scrap into his palm, urging him to wrap his fingers around it. Steve complied, scowling a little, and then James backed off.</p><p>“Goodbye, Steve,” he told him.</p><p>Steve let go of Sarah’s hand and waved to him absently, thoroughly confused. He tucked the scrap of paper into his pocket, right next to his drawing journal.</p><p>“Goodbye,” Steve murmured.</p><p>James darted back to his father’s side and climbed dutifully into the carriage. He watched Steve through the window as it drove away.</p><p>“I need to get back to the pharmacy. Steve, I need your help with the pestle.”</p><p>He nodded eagerly. “I can help you, Mama.”</p><p>“Of course you can.”</p><p>“He’s bright,” Mrs. Walters agreed. “This one can do whatever he sets his mind to. He picks things up so quickly.”</p><p>“So did Joe.”</p><p>“I’m sorry for your loss.”</p><p>“We’re carrying on. Have a good evening.”</p><p>“May you, as well, madam.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Steve busied himself with the small, light chores that Sarah delegated to him, like sweeping up in the back store room of the pharmacy or blending and crushing herbs and other medicinals with the pestle when she measured them out, standing on a step stool so he could see over the edge of the table. Steve became a regular at the pharmacy while his mother worked as an assistant and nurse to Dr. Abraham Erskine. His apothecary shop was small and well-lit. His customers who couldn’t easily afford his remedies often paid him in livestock or foodstuffs; Mrs. Rasputin paid him for the herbs he’d prescribed with her plumpest hen, which clucked and pecked at him, finding the transaction less than ideal.</p><p>They remained at the apothecary until the sun began to set, and Dr. Erskine drove them both home in his wagon.</p><p>Sarah sliced Steven a generous slab of bread and spread it with butter for him, letting him eat it while she started a pot of stew. While she diced up celery, carrots and onions and dropped a lump of butter into the pot, he chewed thoughtfully on his bread.</p><p>“So, there’s a new boy in your school.”</p><p>He paused and set down the bread. The tension was back. Sarah sighed.</p><p>“Do you like him?”</p><p>“I thought he might be my friend.” Then, “I don’t want him to think I’m a baby. Or a weakling.”</p><p>“Oh, Steven. Oh, darling, no!” She paused and joined him at the table, and she reached over to stroke his hair. “I don’t think he thinks that about you at all. In fact, I think he wants very much to be your friend.”</p><p>“I don’t…” Steve’s words halted, and she watched something in him change.</p><p>“What don’t you want, sweetheart?”</p><p>“I don’t want him to think he has to stick up for me.” And his face crumpled, and Sarah knew in that moment, as she had always known, that this was Joseph Roger’s son. So much stubbornness and pride. “I don’t want him to think I’m a baby,” he repeated, and he started sniffling as she drew him close. “I wanted him to like me.”</p><p>“I actually think he does.” She hugged him and rocked him, kissing the top of his head. “It’s all right.”</p><p>And her son told her about the football game and the taunts, about Gil shoving him again, and about the girls watching him and little Darcy not leaving him alone, and all of the other little indignities that ruined his afternoon. Sarah gave him all of the hugs and reassurances and let him help her finish making the stew.</p><p>When she got him ready for bed, she retrieved his pile of school clothes to take to the wash basket.</p><p>“Oh. Don’t forget your book. And this.” She handed him the journal and the folded slip of paper without opening either. Steve took them both and scuttled off to his bed. “Pick out which story you want to hear, sweetheart.”</p><p>She left the lantern behind. Steve opened up the note and smoothed it out and read it slowly aloud.</p><p>“I. I’m. S. Sor-sorry. Y. Y-you are n-nnn… not. A baby. Can… can we be. Ffff. Frrr...ends. Friends.”</p><p>Steve smiled to himself, scraped knees and other indignities forgotten.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Winifred Barnes handed her husband the post before she moved to help their housekeeper clear away the supper dishes. “I’m going to give the children a bath,” she told him.</p><p>“All of the dirt followed them inside, especially Bucky,” George mused.</p><p>“I hope he’s thought about his temper.” Winifred sent him from the table without dessert, an understandable consequence for fighting and ruining his good jacket.</p><p>
  <i> “I will certainly discuss it with him, dear.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Anything new?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>George shrugged at first, until he saw the gray envelope. The stationery was heavy and of good quality, and the sender sealed it with dark blue wax. George cracked it open and extracted the letter. He unfolded it and pulled out his monocle, reading the first few lines in the wavering candlelight.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Oh, dear,” he muttered.</i>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. If Wishes Were Horses</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Becca said you needed me, Mother?” </p>
<p>“Now that you’ve stopped dithering, yes.”</p>
<p>Bucky handed his jacket to the young maid, and she bobbed a curtsy before backing out of the room.</p>
<p>“I can seldom stop myself from dithering,” he told her thoughtfully, stroking his chin for effect. Winifred swatted him with her fan, tsking and rolling her eyes.</p>
<p>“Just go talk to your father, for heaven’s sake.”</p>
<p>Bucky would look back on that conversation and realize that heaven was playing tricks on him, certainly.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay. No more shmoopy woopy kidfic. I promise. Grownup Stucky from now on. With… a teeny, weeny smidgen of flashback here and there. Just a smidgen. Promise. Seriously. Okay. ONWARD!!!!!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The rooster’s crow jerked Steve out of a too-short, troubled sleep, and he groaned loudly in disgust, tugging the pillow over his face to block out the bluish glow drifting in through the curtains. “Ugh…” The chill in the room told him that the fire he’d lit the night before died down to ashes, and his muscles and joints ached from it, but he knew that getting up and moving would help. </p>
<p>“It always starts all over again at dawn,” he grumbled as he slowly rolled upright, stretched and scratched himself all over. His fingernails rasped noisily through his beard; he still wasn’t quite ready to shave it, despite Sam’s claims that it made him look like a pirate. His best friend’s own mustache was always neatly trimmed, and no one would ever mistake Samuel Wilson for anything less than a gentleman. No matter how often Steve warned him away from him, claiming that a friendship with Steve would ruin his reputation, Sam would shake his head and demand, “Good heavens, Rogers, will you simply <i>shut up</i> with that nonsense?”</p>
<p>Sam deemed himself a sound judge of character. His reputation wouldn’t suffer at all for continuing his friendship with one Steven Grant Rogers. Over the years, Steve had suffered unfortunate health, unfortunate circumstances, and unfortunate loss, but there was nothing at all wrong with his character. His grasp of the social graces was firm, but perhaps not… graceful. </p>
<p>Steve rose from bed, continuing to scratch in areas that weren’t polite in mixed company, squinted a moment, then hopped to the side as he let out a loud fart. “Onions,” he muttered. All right. Perhaps they needed to be cooked a little longer the next time he attempted Sarah’s stew recipe, but at least he was eating. Still eating rather well, considering the matters at hand.</p>
<p>Steve retrieved a gray shirt that was slightly stained but more than suitable for working outside, heavy woolen trousers, suspenders, and his jacket and work gloves that he wore whenever he was planting or weeding. He set the clothing aside on the chair beside the vanity and made up the bed, detangling and smoothing out the covers and plumping the pillows. Steve couldn’t remember his dreams, but they had been restless and troubled, as usual. </p>
<p>It was just so hard to focus when his future was up in the air.</p>
<p>Steven was no closer to paying off the bank than he was a month ago, and Alexander Pierce, the head of financing, wasn’t amused, despite the fact that he offered Steve the same brittle, wintry smile every time they spoke. Sarah Rogers left behind fond memories of her character and kindness, but she didn’t leave a fat purse. Joseph’s modest fortune paid for the barest minimum of upkeep for the farm and the tiny cottage they lived in while he was alive; it dwindled down to nothing once Sarah fell ill and could no longer earn their way at the pharmacy. </p>
<p>Steve was a quick study and assisted properly in the preparation of tinctures, potions and remedies throughout the years. Shortly after Steve’s twelfth birthday, Sarah passed away at dusk, in a candlelit room, while Darlene Wilson clung to her hand and mopped her brow. Abraham took Steven in as his ward, living with him while the good doctor held Steve’s inheritance in trust. He lived like a typical bachelor; his cleaning woman kept his home up to sanitary standards, but it remained perpetually cluttered. His laboratory coat was often covered in dog hair and occasionally featured a soup stain or two. Steven often mimicked his tendencies and habits in lieu of his mother’s guidance regarding manners, etiquette and grooming. Eating the proper course with the proper fork wasn’t a priority; making sure that Abraham had a full cord of firewood stacked along the outer wall of his modest house was. </p>
<p>Abraham tried. Oh, how he <i>tried</i> to be the father that young Steven deserved. Steve’s toy boats, his old kite and the fairy tale book came with him when he entered the doctor’s household. There were hugs. There were stories. Steven shared his day at school with Abraham over roughly prepared dinners and showed him his sketches, and later, his paintings. Steven received kits of oil pigments, gouache and watercolors for his birthdays and for Christmas, and he was precious with them, using them sparingly and with the utmost care, knowing they were luxuries.</p>
<p>Steve tried to resume his mother’s place at the apothecary shop, until Dr. Erskine went home early one afternoon with a burning fever and persistent cough. Influenza claimed him slowly.<br/>When Steven’s father passed away, there were distractions. <i>Come away from there, sweetheart. Let’s go outside, I’ll push you on the swing. Would you like a sweet bun, darling?</i> The teachers, or the vicar, or the housekeeper, or his mother’s friends from church or the pharmacy would come all the time to bring food and cloying, well-meaning distractions and kind words that seemed to evaporate as soon as they left their lips.</p>
<p>Abraham provided the distractions when Sarah passed away. So did Sam, darling, charming Samuel and his narrow circle of childhood friends. </p>
<p>There were no more distractions when Steven lost Dr. Erskine. Burying him and allowing the sale of the shop to Dr. Johann Schmidt and his assistant, Dr. Zola was his sole focus, The transaction was perfunctory and emotionless. Mr. Pierce shook his hand and told him, “Come to me whenever you need me to release you from any more of your burdens, Steven. I’m more than glad to help.”</p>
<p>The only burden he wanted to release him from was his childhood home. Dr. Erskine held it in trust; upon his passing, Sarah’s older brother, Mortimer, resumed it from him as Steve’s last remaining relative, despite the fact that he refused Steve’s guardianship. It was complicated.</p>
<p>Steven despised things that were complicated.</p>
<p>Steve heated up the kettle for tea, and for just enough hot water to bathe. He filled his wash basin on his vanity and then let his cup steep, mentally organizing his day. He needed to take the day’s eggs to market and then see which groceries he could afford from his earnings. Then, he needed to finish watering the orchard, harvesting the potatoes from the garden, and then mix some tonic to take to Mrs. Walters, who complained of a sore shoulder the last time he spoke to her in Sunday services. He would need to spare Billy, his young farm hand, a coin or two for his week’s salary after helping him repair the fence surrounding his pasture.</p>
<p>If he had enough daylight left by the time he finished his chores and his shopping, he could finish work on the painting for Mrs. Walters’ cousin, Professor Banner. He was well to do, kindly, and soft-spoken. He’d admired a painting of some calla lilies that hung in Sarah’s sitting room when he visited for the funeral repast. The professor commissioned Steven to paint him something to hang in his own study, and Steven knew the money was already spent as soon as it landed in his palm, but he still put his heart into painting it. Watching the images in his mind’s eye take shape in soft strokes of paint across the gritty surface of the canvas was a release, and perhaps Steve’s only balm.</p>
<p>There were never enough hours in the day. There were always too many chores, too many responsibilities, and far too few pleasures now that Steven Rogers was all alone in the harsh world. Steve felt like he was drowning, calling to shore with no one on dry land to hear him.</p>
<p>Billy arrived once his tea was ready, and Steve offered him a bowl of porridge with raisins, a meager start to a grueling day, but Billy accepted it, never one to turn down food. The two of them made quick work of feeding the fowl. Steve shooed one of the turkeys off the edge of the water trough and then went to gather the eggs from the coop. </p>
<p>“Hasn’t rained in a while.”</p>
<p>“I hope the weather holds long enough for me to get back into town,” Steve replied as he carefully checked over each egg collected in the baskets. The clouds were moving slowly across the sky, making the shadows shift across the grass. The breeze brought a whiff of Sarah’s herb garden to him, rich with lavender, rosemary and other savories. Steve considered harvesting some of those, too, to take to market with him, if it would bring him a little more income. Some weeks brought decent yields on everything, particularly in the spring. The vegetable garden yielded enough food for him to feed himself and to store, pickle, dry and ferment enough to store for the colder months. Steve feared droughts more than anything; a brush fire wiped out half of his orchard the year before, and only through Sam’s family’s charity and assistance in replanting was he able to recover what was lost. Steve always thanked heaven for Sam Wilson, in every regard.</p>
<p>Except when Sam chose to be <i>Sam.</i> </p>
<p>Steve eyed the state of his jacket. It was careworn and stained, with a fraying cuff and a missing button just below the collar. His clothes were clean enough, but rumpled. Sam held out precious little hope for Steve and made this opinion known. Frequently. <i>Emphatically.</i></p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“Good Lord. The cat dragged you into the house, took a taste, then left you behind in the corner.”</p>
<p>“We can’t all be fashion plates or compete with Beau Brummell,” Steve had shot back, more than once. </p>
<p>“Brummell isn’t looking back over his shoulder at <i>you</i>. Never fear.”</p>
<p>“You’re terrible for a man’s confidence, Samuel.”</p>
<p>“And that jacket is terrible on my poor, unfortunate eyes.”</p>
<p>“Now, you’re just being rude.”</p>
<p>“I’m not being rude. As your oldest, dearest acquaintance, I’m <i>giving advice.</i> And I must advise you throw that jacket into the fireplace, posthaste. It’s an affront to my eyes. I only tell you this because I love you.”</p>
<p>“You don’t love my empty pockets.”</p>
<p>“Well, no. I can’t say that I do.” That made Sam’s usual smile falter. But sympathy shone in his dark brown eyes. “You’re your mother’s son, Steve. You’ll get through this. My money’s on you.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t think you were a betting man, Sam Wilson.”</p>
<p>“Not in polite company. And right now, I’m just with <i>you</i>, so…”</p>
<p>Steve snorted and reached out to swat him, but Sam ducked out of his reach.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sam didn’t have much time for leisurely pursuits these days, himself, while he ran his parents’ estate and continued his studies to become a doctor. Sam cut a dash every time he rode into town, boots polished to an impeccable shine and hair smelling of pomade. His cravat was always perfectly tied, and the Wilson family employed a clever tailor who cut Sam’s suits to fit Sam’s figure like a glove. Several orchards lined the Wilson’s property, but they did not own livestock, so Sam never slopped the hogs or managed a herd of any sort of beast, a fact that Steve cheerfully brought up every time his best friend nagged him about his attire, or his seeming lack of interest in etiquette. This morning didn’t look like it would promise Steve idle time with Sam to chat over tea; the afternoon didn’t, either.</p>
<p>Steve enjoyed the wagon ride into town, breathing in the scents of the surrounding woods and creeks as the horses’ hooves clip-clopped down the road. He sang a few of Sarah’s favorite songs in his smooth, deep voice as he rode, heedless of anyone hearing him (squirrels, perhaps, or a few flocks of swallows, who were merciful critics). Many of his classmates from school had left town after they finished their studies, like Darcy, whose parents sent her off to a finishing school, or Ororo, who sailed across the pond to attend a women’s college on the remote isle of Wakanda. A few of them still recognized him - barely - when he stopped at the bakery, the butcher’s, or the new apothecary. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Steven was a survivor and a “tough little mite,” by his father’s judgment, but he had his mother’s attention to his nutrition to thank for how well he’d thrived, something Abraham continued in his own household. Abraham sent Steve to the finest specialists to straighten out his crooked spine, and the improvement in his posture aided his respiratory status immeasurably. Steve ran further, faster, and developed the strength gained from a lifetime of working on his family’s farm. At twenty, he was no longer bandy-legged and slight, and his towhead blond hair darkened to a deep, honey gold. Despite Sam’s claims that Steve would never find himself a proper spouse dressed in such ragged attire, Steve didn’t starve for attention from men and women alike. Heads turned whenever he stepped down from his wagon or strode into a parlor.</p>
<p>He charmed customers at the market whenever he sold his eggs, vegetables and herbs. </p>
<p>“That pretty face of his is the only thing keeping him out of the poor house,” the Frost family’s housekeeper remarked. “I can buy eggs from anyone, like the Rasputins down the road.”</p>
<p>“Their younger boy’s a pretty sight, too, so I don’t blame you, but this one fills out those trousers rather nicely,” replied Tabitha, a young ingenue in a pink dimity dress remarked as she poked at a tray of fine satin ribbons. The housekeeper shushed her, but she nodded vigorously in agreement.</p>
<p>Steve was actually trading goods with “the younger Rasputin boy,” Piotr, a few moments later.</p>
<p>“I’ve some chamomile and some eucalyptus, and some nice rosemary, if your mother wants anymore of it,” Steve offered.</p>
<p>“Da. She just used the last of it. I’ll take what you have left of it, tovarisch.” Peter handed Steve two small but heavy burlap sacks. “The potato crop came in well.”</p>
<p>Steve could practically taste the stew he had planned. “Then, take some eggs, too.” Money helped, but Steve didn’t mind a good barter with a nice family. </p>
<p>“Nyet. We have eggs. The herbs are fine. Take the potatoes. Mama says you are looking too skinny.”</p>
<p>Steve snorted, while Piotr simply shrugged and grinned back. Steve wasn’t petite by anyone’s standards, but Piotr topped him by four inches and struggled to find jackets whose sleeves didn’t leave his wrists dangling below the cuffs or the seams straining diligently around the shoulders. Steve was fond of Piotr, silently admiring his dark good looks, sharp bone structure and the wicked little cleft in his chin, but rumor had it that his younger sister introduced him to Alexandra Gabler during her first Season ball, and that sparks flew, despite his lower status. Piotr, like Steve, was a talented artist and also hired himself out to draw and paint portraits.</p>
<p>Abraham hired the finest tutors for Steven to keep him up to speed with his peers whenever he was bedbound with grave illness, including local artists who helped him to hone his own craft and natural talent. Piotr developed his talents on his own, since his parents didn’t have the funds to spend on his education with two other mouths to feed, namely his older brother, Mikhail, known around the village as an eccentric and a bit of a rakle, and his younger sister, Illyana, whose innocent demeanor and fair good looks belied a mischievous streak and gossiping tongue. </p>
<p>They continued their dickering, and Piotr finally moved on to the butcher’s shop to purchase some oxtails and cutlets. Steve beckoned to the crowd with friendly calls of “Fresh eggs for sale! Fresh eggs for your breakfast table! Boil them, coddle them, fry them, you won’t be disappointed! Fresh eggs for sale!”</p>
<p>Within a couple of hours, his baskets were empty, and his pockets were full of coins and a few small notes. Steve wandered about the market and purchased a few things for his own cupboards, even a couple of luxuries, like the kerosene oil and a bar of fine lavender soap.  He stopped just short of spending Billy’s wages, checking his pocket to make sure he still had it before he loaded up his wagon with his goods. </p>
<p>Steve’s attention was caught by a high-pitched, tinkling, feminine laugh. He turned and saw a medium height brunette in a pale blue linen day gown and a bonnet with matching ribbons walk out of the millinery carrying a hat box under her arm.</p>
<p>“I’ll be sure to have Mother send you an invitation, she will be tickled pink to see you again, Emma darling.” Steve watched as she continued to back out of the doorway, not watching for the three deep steps that led down to the curb. </p>
<p>“Miss!” he called out. “Watch your step!”</p>
<p>But she didn’t heed him, and she continued her giggling promises to keep in touch with her friend who remained in the shop, giving her vapid reassurances without the benefit of a practical warning to <i>turn around.</i> Steve dropped the bag of potatoes into the back of the wagon and hurried forward, accidentally bumping into a gentleman barely managing a heavy crate of produce.</p>
<p>“Watch yerself!” he cried as Steve jostled him.</p>
<p>“Sorry, man! Miss! MISS! LOOK OUT!” She turned her head slightly, but not before she moved her left foot one more ill-planned step, making her stumble over the edge. She let out an unbecoming squawk of alarm as she tumbled backward, and the hat box flew up into the air, along with the small reticule she carried. Steve darted behind her, catching her as she fell back into his arms, letting out a low “Oof!” as she made impact. Sharp reflexes sent his left hand flying out to catch her reticule, and he shifted her into that arm and caught the hat box with his right with a brief fumble, but then snapped it against his side.</p>
<p>“Oh, my… thank you, sir. Goodness, I would have taken quite a spill.”</p>
<p>“You <i>did</i> take it, miss,” he pointed out awkwardly, but he smiled as he helped set her back onto her feet, then gently handed her back the reticule and the hat box. “Er. And. You’re quite welcome.” He tipped his hat to her, then put it back on just as quickly once a glance in the storefront window showed him that his hair was a smashed wreck.</p>
<p>“Well…!”</p>
<p>Steve felt himself flush to the roots of his hair as her mouth worked, trying to find the right response. But she eventually managed.</p>
<p>“There certainly would have been a less fortunate outcome, then.”</p>
<p>Just as Steve opened his mouth to make his excuses, a tall, comely blonde wearing a white gown with a bodice that was lower cut than daytime fashion indicated appeared in the doorway, and she gave him a sly, almost feline smile.</p>
<p>“I’d make an introduction, but it looks like Steven did that himself. Rebecca, this is Steven Rogers. We were school chums, once.”</p>
<p><i>Hardly</i>, he didn’t say, even though it lingered on the tip of his tongue.</p>
<p>Emma Frost hadn’t changed much since their childhood. Finishing school hadn’t smoothed out any of her sharp edges.</p>
<p>“He has such an attentive eye and quick hands.”</p>
<p>“Mmmmm,” Emma considered, and she raised her eyebrows at him. “Does he, now?”</p>
<p>Steven Rogers knew he was red as a beet, and that Emma wasn’t anywhere near finished. “Er. I need to… to go now. I just bought… milk. It will… spoil.” He tipped his hat again, regretting it instantly once he remembered the state of his hair, but he still managed a polite smile before turning on his heel, climbing up onto the seat of his wagon, and giving the reins a sharp crack. He rode off quickly, but the sound of his horses’ hoofbeats didn’t drown out Emma’s low laughter.</p>
<p>“Emma,” Rebecca chided. “Don’t. You’ll embarrass the dear man.”</p>
<p>“Dear man,” Emma scoffed. “He’s hardly that, darling. Steven Rogers is as rough around the edges as they come. There was hope for him before his mother passed away, perhaps, but once Dr. Erskine assumed his guardianship… goodness.” She shuddered for emphasis. </p>
<p>“I don’t think his rudeness was intentional. Perhaps he just doesn’t know how to speak to members of the fairer sex. He was gallant enough to look out for my safety.”</p>
<p>“He’s <i>ridiculous</i>,” Emma assured her. “Oh, Rebecca. Weren’t we supposed to meet your brother in town?”</p>
<p>“He was thinking about a trip to the barber’s,” Rebecca clarified. Then she glanced down the street. “Oh, look, there he is!” She saw Steve’s wagon disappear around the corner of the crowded street, but then her brother’s gleaming dark head emerged from the barber shop, and he stepped into the throng of patrons and vendors enjoying the mild midday sunshine.</p>
<p>“There he is,” Emma repeated. She pulled her fan from her reticule and fanned herself none too subtly as the eldest Barnes child approached.</p>
<p>She smiled as he drew closer, having to slowly look up. He stood just shy of six feet, appearing slightly taller in the gleaming Hessian boots and snug, cream-colored breeches. His long, blue wool overcoat brought out his pale, blue-gray eyes. “Good afternoon, James. I’m sure you remember me, but perhaps your sister could reintroduce us.”</p>
<p>“Little Emma Frost,” he offered, and his smile dimpled becomingly. Emma detected a hint of amusement in his tone. “How you’ve grown.”</p>
<p>“I’m hardly little,” she tsked, but she rapped him lightly on the shoulder with her fan. “I was only two or three years behind you, sir.”</p>
<p>“I can’t imagine you behind anyone, Miss Frost. But, you’re looking very well.”</p>
<p>She beamed, and Bucky suppressed a sigh. Becca’s friends were tedious at best, but he knew the Frost girls to be rather exhausting. Christian, the eldest and the only son, was decent, if a little full of himself at times. Three weeks was just long enough to reacquaint himself with the local color and townsfolk; fourteen years was just long enough to pack elegant, lean muscle onto his almost six-foot frame. James Buchanan Barnes, or Bucky to those who loved him, broke hearts with but a glance. Emma was sizing him up, perhaps hoping for something more than an introduction. An <i>invitation.</i>Bucky gave her a polite smile and drew back. He turned to Becca, who was watching the exchange with droll amusement.</p>
<p>“Mother expects us at tea with Aunt Catherine.”</p>
<p>“Cucumber sandwiches, oolong, and much hand-wringing. I can hardly wait.” Becca nodded, chuckling, and he elbowed her the way he did when they were children.</p>
<p>Emma’s smile remained fixed in place, but there was a bit of confusion in her eyes when Becca elbowed him back and stuck out her tongue at her brother, crossing her eyes in unladylike fashion. Brother and sister teased and shoved each other casually, ignoring onlookers’ stares of amusement and disapproval, and Emma cleared her throat.</p>
<p>“Shall we go, then? I promised Mother I would return home quickly. Cordelia is bringing the baby over for a visit.”</p>
<p>“Oh, that’s right. Don’t be late, Bucky, or Mother will let you have it.”</p>
<p>“What? You would have me show up on time and deprive you of your favorite entertainment?”</p>
<p>But he leaned over and fondly kissed her cheek. “I will behave,” he murmured. “Goodbye, ducky.”</p>
<p>“Goodbye, <i>Bucky.</i>”</p>
<p>Bucky strolled off toward a local confectioner’s, while Emma and Becca climbed into the Frost family’s carriage. Bucky enjoyed his dwindling leisure time immensely, skin still tingling from his shave at the barber’s. He perused the sweet shop and felt his mouth water at the array of enticing sweets, gleaming, rich chocolate truffles and trays of fancy toffees and creams.</p>
<p>“Welcome, sir, and good day,” a cheerful tenor greeted him. “Which of my lovely treats may I interest you in today?”</p>
<p>“All of them,” Bucky admitted. “Good afternoon,” he added belatedly.</p>
<p>“Begging your pardon, sir, but you look so familiar…”</p>
<p>Bucky cocked his head, brow furrowing for a moment. The young man before him wore a pristine white apron and cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up over his elbows, revealing well developed biceps. He was taller than Bucky and had sandy brown hair and clear blue eyes. His profile was pleasantly irregular; his nose looked as though someone had fractured it for him more than once. His jaw was rakishly square and he had a widow’s peaked hairline. For some reason, Bucky’s memory was prodding him and offering him a vision from his childhood. A young boy with carefully patched, well-worn clothing and freckles, gangly limbs protruding from beneath his hems.</p>
<p>“Clint?” Bucky attempted.</p>
<p>His face lit up, and he came around the other side of the counter and reached for Bucky’s hand. His grip was just shy of punishing, and he practically shook Bucky’s arm off with his greeting. Clint clapped his shoulder warmly. “James! James Barnes, right?”</p>
<p>“It’s been an age.”</p>
<p>“It feels like minutes! Look at you, all crisply starched.”</p>
<p>Bucky’s nose scrunched when he smiled. “Give my mother credit for that. She holds strong opinions about her children’s appearance and subjects me to a full inspection before I cross the threshold.”</p>
<p>“Even checks behind your ears?” Clint teased, reaching out to tug his lobe, and Bucky laughed, swatting his hand away. “Oh, come on, now. Take a look around my shop. Every single thing is delicious.”</p>
<p>“Please refrain from making such claims. My stomach is listening to you with far too much enthusiasm.”</p>
<p>“Come, come. Try one of these.”</p>
<p>“How much are they?”</p>
<p>“Taste one. First one is free.” Clint indicated a tray of perfectly formed truffles dusted with cocoa powder, “This one is amaretto. Almond liqueur and a bit of marzipan paste. It’s quite rich.”</p>
<p>Bucky contemplated it, then asked him, “What about these?”</p>
<p>“Oh, that one is lemon cream.”</p>
<p>“That one, then.”</p>
<p>“Not the amaretto?”</p>
<p>“Never the marzipan, I’m afraid.”</p>
<p>“I will not mock your judgment. Even though it is lacking in this regard.” Clint still plucked a truffle from the dish with a pair of tongs and delicately set it atop a linen napkin. “This one is lovely, though. Light and creamy, and slightly tart. I know you will enjoy it.”</p>
<p>Bucky picked up the truffle and pressed it between his lips, then moaned in pleasure. Rapture suffused his face. “Good Lord, man. Oh, my word.”</p>
<p>“Lovely, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“Sinful,” Bucky corrected him. “I will take a dozen.”</p>
<p>“I sell them in these boxes by the pound.”</p>
<p>“Then, I will take a pound.”</p>
<p>“I may have to let you taste one more, since you’ve fallen so neatly into my clutches… er, I mean, have become such an ardent customer,” Clint teased.</p>
<p>“Is this one dark chocolate?”</p>
<p>“That one is my favorite. The cream filling is made with raspberries. When you bite into it, the center is a gorgeous purple.”</p>
<p>It was just as rich and decadent as the lemon one, and Bucky didn’t refrain from licking his fingers before using the proffered napkin. “I may offer these as a bribe to Mother with the hope that she will let me out of my appointment with my aunt for tea.”</p>
<p>“Have I met your aunt?”</p>
<p>“Catherine Burrows.”</p>
<p>Clint huffed, then rubbed his nape. “She’s legend in these parts.”</p>
<p>“If you mean that she is a tough old bird, then you are not wrong.”</p>
<p>Clint huffed a laugh as he finished boxing up Bucky’s purchase.</p>
<p>“A pound of the raspberry, too. They must come home with me.”</p>
<p>Clint grinned. “It will be my genuine pleasure, James.”</p>
<p>James almost corrected him, wanting him to know that he preferred “Bucky,” but he thought better of it. </p>
<p>Money changed hands, Clint sent him off with another of his vigorous, jarring handshakes, and Bucky returned home on his horse, feeling satisfied that he rode into town on the white gelding, Alpine, instead of taking the carriage.</p>
<p>The Barnes’s sprawling estate dwarfed many of the surrounding properties and boasted a shady creek that Bucky remembered playing in during childhood visits after they had moved away, at his dowager aunt’s behest. Bucky kicked up the horse’s pace to a smooth gallop and tore out across the countryside, letting the wind whistle in his ears, tightly grasping the boxes of chocolates under his arm.</p>
<p>Within minutes, he trotted up to the stables and met Arnie, his father’s footman. He was dressed in livery and looked pleased with Bucky’s arrival.</p>
<p>“Good afternoon, sir.”</p>
<p>“Hello.” Bucky climbed down and handed him the reins, and Arnie walked Alpine back into his stall so he could be curried and fed.</p>
<p>“Your parents are in the den, sir.”</p>
<p>“Thank you.”</p>
<p>Bucky strode into the house through the kitchen entrance, nodding to the cook. “Hello, Pietro.”</p>
<p>His family’s cook was young and lean, with mischievous blue eyes and hair that went prematurely gray by the time he was sixteen, but his looks were striking nevertheless. “Good afternoon, Mr. Barnes. You look like you enjoyed your ride.”</p>
<p>“I worked up an appetite. What have you been working on in here?”</p>
<p>“Lamb stew with dumplings, a salad of spring greens, corn pudding, and an apple crumble with fresh cream for dessert, sir.”</p>
<p>“I thought Mother expected us to go to tea at Aunt Catherine’s.”</p>
<p>“Your father asked for this, sir. He suggested that he might be developing a head cold, sir.” Amusement danced in Pietro’s eyes, however, telling Bucky that his father planned to duck out of his mother’s luncheon plans.</p>
<p>“Please save me a plate,” Bucky asked. Pietro winked at him and nodded knowingly.</p>
<p>“Save me your appetite, sir.”</p>
<p>“It won’t be hard.” Tiny sandwiches, tea, and his aunt’s sour disposition and nagging would certainly leave him starving for a decent, quiet meal by the time he returned home. The kitchen was spacious and airy. Gleaming pots and pans hung from hooks above the stove, and the pantry was well stocked. Pietro’s sister, Wanda, handled all of the scullery chores in the kitchen and often helped him chop vegetables and knead dough. They bickered as often as Becca and Bucky did, but they were very, very close.</p>
<p>“You didn’t put enough salt in the stew, Pietro!”</p>
<p>“It’s salty enough! And why would I trust your judgment on that sort of thing?”</p>
<p>“Because someone has to keep you from serving this family tasteless stew.”</p>
<p>Bucky exited the kitchen, still carrying the chocolates under his arm. Becca looked up from the overstuffed chair in the sitting room as he walked past and stopped him.</p>
<p>“Mother is looking for you.” She peered at the boxes with interest. “What’s that?”:</p>
<p>“Wouldn’t you like to know.”</p>
<p>“You are such a <i>brat,</i> Bucky.” She set down the small needlepoint tea towel she was working on and approached him. “Oh, you stopped at the sweet shop!”</p>
<p>“How did you know?”</p>
<p>“Ororo took us there last week. You remember her from school, don’t you? She was the lovely girl we met at school, the one with the stunning white hair… oh, maybe you wouldn’t remember her, but she and Emma were staunch friends. At least they were back then.”</p>
<p>“I only have the vaguest memory, and you were so little back then, I’m surprised you remember them from back then at all.”</p>
<p>“Father took us to visit the Professor for a few summers, remember?” she prodded. Then she reached for the boxes, attempting to tug one out of his grasp, but he swatted at her hand.</p>
<p>“Keep your mitts off of these, little sister!”</p>
<p>“I’ll tell Mother you’re hogging the sweets,” she threatened, as though he was seven again.</p>
<p>Bucky rolled his eyes and opened the box of lemon truffles, “Happy, now? Take one, Becca. <i>One.</i>”</p>
<p>She smirked up at him in triumph and delicately plucked one from the box. “Thank you.” She popped it into her mouth and hummed in approval. “Exquisite.”</p>
<p>“Aren’t they?”</p>
<p>“One more?”</p>
<p>“You’re lucky that I can tolerate you.” He allowed her to take one of the raspberry ones this time.</p>
<p>“Go. Mother is in the study.”</p>
<p>Bucky took his leave and headed into the study, wandering through the corridors hung with oil paintings and family portraits. The wallpaper and tapestries and damask cushions throughout the house were comforting and familiar. All of Bucky’s happiest memories happened here, whenever they spent summers in town. When George announced that they were moving back here permanently, Bucky was over the moon. </p>
<p>“Becca said you needed me, Mother?” </p>
<p>“Now that you’ve stopped dithering, yes.” Winifred sat at the heavy, highly polished mahogany desk and reviewed the household accounts in George’s ledger. She was a pleasingly plump, handsome woman of middle years with her son’s eyes and chestnut brown hair. Hers was softly streaked with gray and styled in an elegant pompadour. “Take off your coat, Bucky, for heaven’s sake. You’re inside.”</p>
<p>Bucky handed his jacket to the young maid, and she bobbed a curtsy before backing out of the room.</p>
<p>“I can seldom stop myself from dithering,” he told her thoughtfully, stroking his chin for effect. Winifred rose from her desk, approached him and swatted him with her fan, tsking and rolling her eyes. Bucky snickered and pretended to duck, and she brandished her fan to swat him again.</p>
<p>“Just go talk to your father, for heaven’s sake. What on earth took you so long to come back? I thought you were only stopping at the barber’s.”</p>
<p>“I was tempted by the confectionary shop down the road. It was wonderful. You must try these.”</p>
<p>“Ooh.” Winifred’s eyes lit up at the sight of the chocolates. “Those look rich. I should save my appetite for Catherine’s tea.”</p>
<p>“What does Father want?”</p>
<p>“We’ve been meaning to discuss your plans since you came home from Pembroke.”</p>
<p>“I’m planning to spend time with my beloved family. I am at your beck and call, here to respond to your every whim, Mother,” Bucky quipped.</p>
<p>“Goodness, you are terrible. Please stop that. You sound like your father. Seriously, Bucky. You have finished your studies. What next?”</p>
<p>“I have some thoughts in mind.” It was on the tip of his tongue to explain to her about his unfinished projects that occupied his time. Bucky was unsure of her reaction, and Winifred appeared to be in one of her moods to explain to him where his life was headed if he didn’t accept her guidance.</p>
<p>“Some ‘thoughts in mind.’ Goodness gracious, Bucky. That sounds frivolous.”</p>
<p>“I assure you, it’s not.”</p>
<p>“Then go and assure your father of these thoughts of yours. We sent you to Pembroke for a reason. I hope our investment bears fruit.”</p>
<p>Bucky held up his hands in concession, and then he leaned in and kissed his mother’s soft cheek. “Of course. May I never prove to be infertile ground for your infinite wisdom…”</p>
<p>“Brat,” she tsked, but he succeeded in teasing a smile out of her, and she kissed him back. “Go. Talk to him.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bucky would look back on that conversation and realize that heaven was playing tricks on him, certainly.</p>
<p>As he left the study, George actually found him just as he turned to climb the stairs. George was heading down, well groomed and impeccably dressed, not looking at all like a man with a head cold. Bucky smiled up at him as he descended. George met him halfway and clapped him on the shoulder.</p>
<p>“Mother said you wanted to speak to me.”</p>
<p>“I do. About your future endeavors.”</p>
<p>“Would you like to hear my thoughts on the subject?”</p>
<p>“Once you’ve heard mine. And I do hope you will be flexible.” George paused. “<i>Very</i> flexible.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Bucky Decides to be Very Flexible</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“I find that due to some extenuating circumstances, I have had to move some of my expenses around.”</p>
<p>“Meaning?”</p>
<p>“Meaning that I have had to sell off my late younger sister’s home. More accurately,” Mortimer demured, “I lost it to the bank.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Steve and Bucky’s families come to an arrangement of sorts. Steve feels like a puppet and begins to wonder who’s pulling the strings. </p>
<p>You knew I’d get to the plot eventually. Somewhat. Okay, just bear with me.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve rode up in his rickety wagon to Professor Banner’s house, noticing that the lanterns were lit inside. He whistled cheerfully to himself as he hopped down from the seat and carried the burlap-wrapped package up the front, cobble-paved walkway. He saw a face and hand briefly part the curtains in the front window, and before Steve finished climbing the porch steps, the door opened, and the young maid smiled up at him.</p>
<p>“Good evening, sir.”</p>
<p>“Hello, dear. Professor Banner is expecting me.”</p>
<p>“He certainly is. Please, do come in.” </p>
<p>Steve refused her offer to take his coat. “I am not planning to stay long.”</p>
<p>“Steven?” Bruce’s voice was soft and pleasant. “Please, make yourself at home! Would you care for some tea?”</p>
<p>The maid eyed him quizzically, and Steve decided it would be rude to refuse. Professor Banner tended to keep to himself, a perpetual bachelor, practically a hermit, even though he was a much sought after guest in all of the nicest parlor rooms in their community. Steve allowed her to take his coat this time, and he handed Bruce the package, which made his eyes light up behind his owlish spectacles.</p>
<p>“You finished it?”</p>
<p>“I did,” Steve told him proudly. “Let me know what you think.”</p>
<p>Bruce untied the string and removed the burlap from the large canvas and turned it over. His breath caught. “Well, will you look at that. Look at all of the hard work you must have put into this. It’s wonderful, Steve!”</p>
<p>He carried it toward the lantern so he could examine it more thoroughly under the soft light. “You’ve captured the trees and how they look when the blossoms come out. That’s my mother’s garden, surely. Look at the detail.”</p>
<p>It was a soft scene of a stately garden in full bloom. Steve stopped by Bruce’s late mother’s estate at his request and he gave him a walking tour of the garden. Steve’s memory was eidetic and photographic, and he hadn’t even needed to do a preliminary sketch while he was on the grounds. He just painted it from memory. Bruce easily recognized the trellis walls, the rosebushes, the statuary and tiny goldfish pond, and it evoked memories that brought tears to his eyes.</p>
<p>“I love it. I absolutely love it.”</p>
<p>Steve released a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. “You like it. Oh, I’m so glad.”</p>
<p>“No, Steve, I <i>love it</i>. All right, then, let me get the money for you. I can’t wait to hang this up.” Bruce set the painting down on the table and ambled off while Bruce’s housekeeper came into the room with a small, fully loaded tea cart, telling Steve that Bruce had been looking forward to his visit and never meant for him to just rush off. It humbled him to be given such respect and kindness.</p>
<p>Steve sat awkwardly on the edge of a plush, velvet-upholstered chair decorated with nailheads and tasseled cushions. He felt too big and rough and dirty for such a pristine, carefully decorated room. But it was furnished in soft, pleasant tones of apple and olive green and eggplant purple. There were daguerrotypes in silver frames taking up space on settees, shelves and the mantelpiece, and Steve smelled a hint of pipe tobacco in the air.</p>
<p>It was the type of home that seemed to beg for a family to occupy it, even though it was just Bruce rattling around in it. Bruce had a comfortable enough income that he would never be left struggling to eke out a living and spend every day working from sunrise to sunset, wondering if that was what his life was meant to amount to. <i>Struggling</i>. Never truly <i>living</i>.</p>
<p>But Steve put the thoughts aside as Bruce returned to the room with an envelope. It felt satisfyingly thick when he took it from him.</p>
<p>“I know what we agreed upon,” Bruce told him shyly. “I added a bit to compensate you for your trouble in delivering it to my home.”</p>
<p>Steve flushed and smiled, ducking his face, but Bruce clapped him on the shoulder, giving him a little shake.</p>
<p>“No blushing. You have done amazing, exquisite work. It’s worth every penny.”</p>
<p>“Professor Banner-”</p>
<p>“Call me Bruce. My close friends do. Do you take honey in your tea? Or milk?”</p>
<p>“It’s fine as is.”</p>
<p>“Then have a butter biscuit. It’s delicious.” Bruce beckoned for Steve to sit at the small table, and he perched himself across from him on the low ottoman and squeezed a wedge of lemon into his own cup. “You look like you’ve gotten some sunshine. You’ve grown quite tan.”</p>
<p>“When I spend time indoors at all, it’s inside the barn.”</p>
<p>“Where do you usually paint?”</p>
<p>“On a nice day, usually out in the garden. Or on the veranda.”</p>
<p>“That sounds nice!”</p>
<p>They drank tea and Bruce chatted with him, glad to finally have an audience for his opinions on books and articles he was reading and his theories on energy that he was developing into a thesis. Steve listened to him, rapt, not realizing that two hours had flown by, until he looked outside and saw that it was dark, and that the teapot was empty.</p>
<p>“Well, that was nice. Thank you again for stopping by, Steve.”</p>
<p>“Thank you again for the commission.”</p>
<p>“I will spread the word. You are looking for other opportunities, right?”</p>
<p>“Of course!” Steve smiled and shook Bruce’s hand eagerly before his maid brought him back his coat.</p>
<p>“I don’t leave the house much. I just… I need nice things to look at. This makes me smile whenever I look at it. You do such lovely work, Steve.” Bruce’s expression was fond. “Thank you again.”</p>
<p>Steve felt awkward even as an idea sparked. “If… I know you don’t get out much, but if you like, you may visit the farm. Even if it is just to get a breath of fresh air, or… I don’t know,” Steve stammered.</p>
<p>Bruce laughed and nodded. “I will keep that in mind.” Even if the visit never materialized, it felt right to extend the invitation, and in Bruce’s mind, to at least consider it. It was just nice to have a friend who… was <i>nice</i>.</p>
<p>Steve rode home in the dark, lighting his way with a small lantern. His house was empty when he returned; Billy had already left in the afternoon, reminding Steve one more time about his salary. Steve opened the envelope and once again marveled at Bruce’s generosity. Yes, it would be enough. Just enough.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Perhaps another chance to paint something pretty would materialize, easing some of Steven’s burdens. Something had to give.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bucky paced in the cozy study while George smoked his pipe. The morning started unremarkably enough. Soft boiled eggs, steak, orange juice, and some fresh bread and jam for breakfast. Becca sat at the piano and practiced a few songs, singing in her clear soprano. The housekeeper and the maids went about the day’s chores, beating the rugs, polishing the bannisters and furniture and silver, airing the rooms and dusting the portraits.</p>
<p>Bucky paused in his sulking stalk and sighed in loud exasperation. “This is truly how you think I should plan for my future?”</p>
<p>“I think you should consider it. That’s how I worded it, didn’t I?”</p>
<p>“Let’s revisit how you worded it. ‘Bucky, your mother and I have found a feasible match for you, and we think you should marry. The marriage would benefit everyone involved and expand our properties and holdings.’” Bucky paused, giving his father a tight smile. “Did I leave anything out?”</p>
<p>“The part where I mentioned that you would receive an income that you will bring into the marriage to maintain your spouse’s estate and live quite comfortably.”</p>
<p>“Yes, you went over that part. But I am still stumbling over the part where you wish for me <i>to marry</i>.”</p>
<p>“You’re twenty-two, James. You’re a young man in your prime, you’ve just finished your studies, and this is the perfect time to consider marriage and a home of your own.”</p>
<p>“But… why?”</p>
<p>“Your younger sister wants to have a Season. And your mother and I wish to give it to her, with all of the prerequisite pomp and frippery, and all of that nonsense.”</p>
<p>“And… <i>why</i> does this mean I need to marry?”</p>
<p>“Your mother feels you might steal her limelight.”</p>
<p>Bucky’s mouth worked. He opened it to argue, then closed it again. He finally managed, “Come again?”</p>
<p>“You’re young and eligible and attractive, Bucky. I blame your fine looks on your mother.” George’s tone was fond as he puffed on his pipe. He removed it from his mouth and poked it in Bucky’s direction, however, as he emphasized, “If you attend all of those balls that your sister is likely to attend as her chaperone as a bachelor, many eyes will be on <i>you.</i> Your sister is fair enough. But your presence could prove <i>distracting</i> if you remain unmarried.”</p>
<p>“The men who appeal to Becca’s interest wouldn’t try to fill <i>my</i> dance card,” Bucky scoffed.</p>
<p>George snorted. “You don’t know that.”</p>
<p>Bucky felt an annoying hot flush creep over his face, all the way down his neck. He threw up his hands. “This seems rather extreme, Father, don’t you think?”</p>
<p>“The property is lovely. The home is rustic, but spacious. And it sits on a very productive farm. You would help your husband manage it.”</p>
<p>“So. I’m to have a husband.”</p>
<p>“Judging by your past preferences, your mother and I assumed you wouldn’t mind?” George prompted. “Well?”</p>
<p>“Well… no. A male companion, I don’t mind at all. But you’re suggesting a husband. You’re suggesting a <i>marriage</i>, Father.”</p>
<p>“From all accounts, he is kind and hardworking. And easy on the eyes.”</p>
<p>“From whose accounts?”</p>
<p>“From some of my associates in the community.” George rose from the chair and crossed the room, and he scooped up a handful of the pistachios in a cut-glass dish. “The Wilsons. They were very close with the Rogers family.”</p>
<p>“Rogers?”</p>
<p>“Yes. Sarah Rogers was a lovely woman of sterling character. She lost her husband far too soon. They only had one son to inherit after Joseph passed. Now that she’s gone, her brother holds her estate in trust for her son. Except that… he appears to have mismanaged it.”</p>
<p>Bucky paused in his pacing. “Mismanaged it?”</p>
<p>“Yes. Under circumstances that… shall we say, were less than dignified.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George remembered the conversation well. Alexander Pierce arranged the meeting between them following their encounter at the small inn, while George had been traveling across the countryside for business. Alexander interrupted his musings on the train ride and sat on the bench across from him. “George Barnes?”</p>
<p>He’d looked up in surprise, not expecting to run into anyone familiar that far from home. “Good afternoon, sir.”</p>
<p>“It’s a fine afternoon, indeed. You remember me? Alexander? Alexander Pierce? I’m a friend of Nicholas Fury, the constable. He introduced us at Sunday service.”</p>
<p>“Yes. Of course. You’re a banker, correct?”</p>
<p>“I’m the bank’s director,” he corrected him. He leaned in and shook George’s hand briefly. Firmly. “It’s been a long, long time.”</p>
<p>“You’re looking well.”</p>
<p>“As are you, my friend. Tell me what you’ve been occupying yourself with. How is your family?”</p>
<p>“Changing every time I blink my eyes. The children are all grown up. The missus and I just count each other’s gray hairs, I’m afraid.”</p>
<p>“As long as you are staying busy, and still smiling.”</p>
<p>George beamed, nodding.</p>
<p>They chatted about investments for a while, and Alexander eventually told him, “I’ve come back to town to complete my acquisition of an estate.”</p>
<p>“Acquisition?”</p>
<p>“The owner was unable to continue the payments. Our organization extended as much leniency as we could. You know how these things are.”</p>
<p>“Goodness,” George murmured. Alexander’s smile was almost reptilian.</p>
<p>“Business is business,” Alexander said simply.</p>
<p>“This estate you have acquired… is it valuable?”</p>
<p>“It’s profitable,” he told him. “A large farm with a well-maintained house on the property. Apple orchards. Livestock. A small pond nearby. It’s lovely.”</p>
<p>“The owner doesn’t wish to try to keep it?”</p>
<p>“He isn’t the original owner. I’m afraid he mismanaged it when he was supposed to be holding it in trust for his nephew.”</p>
<p>And so it began. George listened to Alexander’s account of one Sarah Rogers, assistant and nurse to one Dr. Abraham Erskine. Sarah Rogers, nee Sarah Elizabeth Stone, younger sister to Mortimer Stone.</p>
<p>George managed to arrange a meeting, which Mortimer enthusiastically accepted. They convened at a small cafe over fried fish and chips. Mortimer thirstily drank two pints of ale while George contented himself with a small glass of white wine. Mortimer was a man of middle years with rheumy gray eyes and a thinning hairline. His nose was bulbous and pockmarked, and there were scores of tiny, broken capillaries in his cheeks. This was not a man who lived carefully or kept healthy habits like his sister had while she lived.</p>
<p>“I find that due to some extenuating circumstances, I have had to move some of my expenses around.”</p>
<p>“Meaning?”</p>
<p>“Meaning that I have had to sell off my late younger sister’s home. More accurately,” Mortimer demured, “I lost it to the bank.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Well, then.”</p>
<p>“I had to allocate my funds to other expenses. Some debts that I had to repay…”</p>
<p>George could only well imagine.</p>
<p>“My nephew is a hardworking fellow. Very upright character. We would have been closer, but… he ended up with that Erskine fellow, er…”</p>
<p>“The physician who owned the apothecary?”</p>
<p>“Yes, yes! The very one. He raised Steven up right, as far as I can tell. But we don’t really keep in touch.”</p>
<p>Which explained so easily how he could be so cavalier about gambling away his nephew’s family home and his sole inheritance, when it was the young man’s only source of income.</p>
<p>So, over a long and tedious luncheon, the two men came up with the solution to Mortimer’s problem and a possible path for George’s eldest child. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George handed Bucky the dish, and Bucky took a handful of the nuts for himself. “This isn’t the worst idea that your mother and I have had.”</p>
<p>“That’s a very bold claim, Father.”</p>
<p>“I’ve let her convince me to worse, but this is my idea, and she was surprisingly accommodating. It’s no more ridiculous than the time I let her hang those terrible maroon striped draperies in my study.”</p>
<p>“You want me to marry so I don’t provide a distraction for Becca when she starts her Season.”</p>
<p>“And that also means that we would have more room to place guests who arrive to stay with us. Many of whom will be your sister’s peers. It would be unseemly if-”</p>
<p>“Ah.” Bucky nodded. He saw where this was going.</p>
<p>“Appearances are important, Bucky.”</p>
<p>“Appearances are <i>essential</i>.”</p>
<p>“Don’t be impertinent.”</p>
<p>“I’m just absorbing what you told me, Father. I’m to be married, apparently.”</p>
<p>“And would that truly be awful?”</p>
<p>Bucky paused before he popped a pistachio into his mouth, sighing. “Well…”</p>
<p>“Would it?”</p>
<p>Bucky considered this.</p>
<p>His own parents were happy. They bickered and fussed, but they made a comfortable, harmonious home together. Their union had lasted twenty-five years so far, despite the expected difficulties.</p>
<p>George’s work made him have to travel and occasionally uproot his family. They had just arrived in town the year that Bucky turned seven. </p>
<p>George’s father had passed away unexpectedly. His mother penned him a letter requesting that he return home urgently to settle the estate and handle the burial. George had turned to his wife, ashen-faced, and told her, “I’m so sorry, darling. I’m ever so sorry. I know we’ve just arrived, but we cannot stay.”</p>
<p>Winifred had no sooner hung the parlor curtains before she had to repack their trunks, have them loaded onto the train, and had the rest of their things taken by train to his father’s home town. </p>
<p>Bucky, who had just attended his first day at his new school, was understandably crushed. He just stared out the window and wept silent, hiccupy tears.</p>
<p>As an adult, Bucky had a strong desire to see what the world had to offer him, but he had just as strong a need to eventually set down roots. And perhaps… he wanted what his parents had. Something solid and love-filled. A partner who would make him laugh every day.</p>
<p>Although a <i>courtship</i> certainly would have been nice…</p>
<p>Bucky still occasionally thought about Steven. He didn’t remember his last name. Just his small, wiry body and his smile like sunshine and the way he sat hunched against the wall of the schoolhouse, sketching. The way he ran to keep up with the older boys and his refusal to back down in the face of unfairness. The memory occasionally pricked him and made him smile. He wondered how he was doing and where he ended up.</p>
<p>And now, his father wanted him to marry. Apparently, George and Winifred weren’t hard pressed to find him a <i>wife</i> and secure a grandchild, something that Bucky found somewhat comforting.</p>
<p>There had been brief flirtations once Bucky’s body developed and his voice deepened. Furtive looks. Secret kisses with both genders. Notes exchanged. The occasional unchaperoned stroll. And later, visits late at night into his classmates’ dormitories while he studied at Pembroke.</p>
<p>George watched him now, waiting for an answer.</p>
<p>“Do you think you could be flexible about this? Would you be willing to consider this arrangement? I think marriage could suit you very well, son.”</p>
<p>Bucky sighed deeply, then shrugged. “I really need to think on it.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The letter from his Uncle Mortimer left Steve flummoxed. He needed to sit down when he reached his kitchen to re-read it, because he simply could not trust his own eyes.</p>
<p>“All right, then,” he muttered. “So. This is how it all ends.”</p>
<p>Billy approached him cautiously, taking in the slump of his shoulders and his knackered expression. “What’s the matter? Did one of the turkeys drown in the trough again?”</p>
<p>“Not yet. I just… I just need a minute.”</p>
<p>“What’s that?” Billy nodded to the letter that was growing creased in Steve’s sweaty grip.</p>
<p>“Some life-changing news.” He stared up at Billy. “My uncle says that he lost the farm, and that the bank will no longer extend him leniency. They are already considering a buyer for the whole property. Lock, stock and barrel.”</p>
<p>Billy whistled and slumped against the wall. His family was one of meager means, too, and he relied on the pittance that Steve managed to give him to support his mother and twin brother, who was currently attending school. </p>
<p>Steve looked up at him. “I will try to make sure that the new owners keep you on. This is… this is complicated. I <i>hate</i> it when things are complicated.”</p>
<p>“You do. I know that about you,” Billy agreed, nodding emphatically. </p>
<p>“Come. Sit. Eat.” Steve waved him vaguely to the kitchen table, and the two of them ate some sandwiches that Steve cut from some hearty bread, cold chicken, lettuce and cucumber, adding a spread of mustard to keep it from being too bland. </p>
<p>“I will keep you on until the bank signs over the deed.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps we can both find work together elsewhere…”</p>
<p>“Billy. That’s…” Steve didn’t discourage this idea. He just nodded and gave him a weak smile.</p>
<p>The two of them worked until sundown, patching the roof of the barn and harvesting the garden. Steve thought back to his encounter with Emma Frost the other day and his excuse that his milk would sour if he waited too long. Because of course he hadn’t <i>bought milk</i>, when he owned a perfectly good <i>cow</i>. Billy milked Gertrude, Her Royal Cowness, early that morning before letting her out into the pasture so her calf, Ernest, could suckle to his content. The encounter was awkward, as they always were whenever Steve had to go into town. Talking to women was difficult and off putting, and his tongue always seemed to tie itself into knots. </p>
<p>Steve didn’t sleep well that night. He lit the lantern and took a glass of warm milk upstairs to bed, and he read from the Grimm’s story book until his eyes finally began to droop. The book always made him feel closer to Sarah.</p>
<p>He read about twelve princesses in their dancing shoes. About Rapunzel trapped in a tower. About Cinderella and her gallant prince. None of them had to worry about money or a farm or helping a friend. About his favorite, the kinder sister in Mother Hulda and her eventual shower of gold coins.</p>
<p>Sometimes, Steve wished he could just be the main character in a fairy tale. Life would be so much less complicated.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>As if his life hadn’t already been thrown into an odd trajectory with the letter from his uncle, the second letter he received three days later from one George Barnes <i>absolutely</i> made him have to sit down again.</p>
<p>“What on <i>earth.</i>”</p>
<p>The stationery was heavy and expensive; he noticed that as he broke open the rich, green wax seal. The letter was written in flowing, copperplate script.</p>
<p>“Dear Mr. Rogers,</p>
<p>I wish to introduce myself. My name is George Barnes, and I am the individual who was approached as a potential buyer for your estate, whose deed will belong to the bank within a few short weeks.”</p>
<p>Steve continued to read it as Billy entered the kitchen, munching on an apple. He handed one to Steve, who took it from him absently.</p>
<p>“What’s that, now?” Billy asked.</p>
<p>“Another letter.”</p>
<p>“Bollocks,” Billy swore, but Steve held up a hand.</p>
<p>“Let me finish reading it. It’s… it’s not from Mort.”</p>
<p>“Thank God.”</p>
<p>“Hush, now.” </p>
<p>He continued to read it aloud. “What I would like to do is offer you an arrangement that would help us both. Particularly, it would benefit my son, James. He is twenty-one now, and of age to marry. He has finished his studies at the University of Pembroke. He is well regarded within our community, intelligent, generous, and I think you would enjoy his wit. I know from your uncle that you have held the sole responsibility of maintaining your family’s farm and the house that sits on your property. Mortimer also assured me that the farm is profitable and would make an excellent asset to my family. I am a businessman, but I am also a family man.</p>
<p>I would like to propose an arrangement that is more like a proposal. I would like you to consider marrying my son James.”</p>
<p>Steve lowered the letter. He stared up at Billy, who dropped his half-eaten apple from nerveless fingers, a bite of it still remaining unchewed and pocketed in his cheek.</p>
<p>“<i>Bollocks</i>,” he repeated.</p>
<p>“Bollocks,” Steve agreed hollowly. “Surely, this can’t be real?!”</p>
<p>“Read the rest of it.”</p>
<p>He obeyed, growing more confused and flabbergasted as he continued. “You would remain on the property and continue to maintain it, along with whomever you have hired as staff to work the land. My son James would help with the financial management and then manage the household accounts. He will receive an income that he will then use toward the upkeep of your home and your staff’s salary, the feed for your livestock, and whatever tools and supplies you need.</p>
<p>I only ask that you be a committed husband to him in every regard. You must appear with him at social events. You must live together in the same home. You must make all decisions together and arrive at mutually reasonable agreements about how you manage your home. You must both be active within the community. I expect you both to be regular guests in our home. You would acquire a younger sister in this arrangement, James’ sister Rebecca. Perhaps that would appeal to you, as I understand you were an only child.”</p>
<p>“This just gets stranger and stranger,” Billy mused. He gave Steve a blank look. “Can you believe this man? He has bats in his belfry if he thinks you’d agree to this.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Steve skimmed the rest of the letter and let out a laugh that sounded slightly alarmed. “This is unnatural. Pinch me. Am I dreaming?”</p>
<p>Billy pinched his arm, and Steve jerked back at the smarting nip. “That’s enough.”</p>
<p>“Sorry. But you’re not dreaming.”</p>
<p>“He will pay for the wedding. This man can afford houses, and a farm, and he can just pay for a wedding without thinking about it.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps it will be a modest affair.”</p>
<p>“A strange affair, more like.” Steve chucked the letter onto the table and took a bite out of the apple. Billy picked up his and took it out back to throw into the slop bucket, not wanting to eat it once it had been on the floor. “So, it’s this, possibly, or begging for alms on the street.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps you could just offer to work for him. That would be a fair arrangement.”</p>
<p>“And what about you, Billy?”</p>
<p>“Well-”</p>
<p>“This is ridiculous!” Steve snapped. “I’ve been getting by fine on my own, all this time, and now this man has the audacity to just write a fancy letter full of ‘beneficial arrangements’ asking me to marry his son who I haven’t even met! What is wrong with this son that he needs his father to make the proposal?”</p>
<p>“Wonder if the son is agreeable to this arrangement?” Billy added.</p>
<p>“How would he even feel about living on a farm?” Steve gestured out the window, where Gertrude and Ernest were munching on the grass in the sunshine. “There’s no place for idle hands out here.”</p>
<p>“This son of his has gone to university. Bet he’s never had so much as a dirty fingernail in his life.” Mischief crept into Billy’s dark eyes, and he gave Steve a sly smile.</p>
<p>“Probably not.” That made Steve chuckle.</p>
<p>For some reason, his thoughts drifted back to that boy in school. Older and taller than Steve, with blue-gray eyes that shone like opals and who was skilled with his footwork on the playing field. Hadn’t his name also been James? What a ridiculous coincidence, but then, everything about this arrangement was ridiculous.</p>
<p>Everything.</p>
<p>They finished their late afternoon chores, and Steve sent him off with a basket of eggs for his family and some of the leftover chicken, his salary for the week, and a small miniature he’d painted for Billy’s brother, Tommy.</p>
<p>Steve kept the letter tucked away in the drawer of his mother’s old desk, along with the one from Mortimer. Then, on a whim, he went upstairs and picked up the old book of Grimm’s tales. He opened up the back cover and took out the letter written to him a long time ago. The paper had yellowed a little around the edges. Steve re-read it again, something he did sometimes whenever he was going through something difficult.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry. You are not a baby. Can we be friends?” he read aloud. “You were right, you know. I’m <i>not</i> a baby. And I should really do this on my own.”</p>
<p>At least this letter made him an offer that was harmless and even apologized to him for any hard feelings. Steve remembered that day. He remembered the sting of Gilmore’s fists and the burn of his scraped knees and the shame of his classmates’ stares and jeers.The Emma Frosts and the Gilmore Hodges of the world would always appear in his life like flies in the ointment. Marriage to a rich man’s son might be a temporary solution to Steve’s financial problems, but it could complicate things.</p>
<p>Terribly.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. A Silk Purse Out of a Sow’s Ear</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Steve waded in the creek up to his knees, letting the currents ripple and rush against his flesh. The sun warmed his bare back, and he tipped his head back, closing his eyes so he could listen to the breeze rattling the branches overhead.</p>
<p>“Steve,” Sam called out to him, breaking his reverie to bits.</p>
<p>Steve turned to him. Sam stood on the bank of the creek, with his hands tucked into the pockets of his crisp trousers. “Thought I’d find you here.”</p>
<p>His voice wasn’t disappointed. His expression was resigned. Steve felt a tightness in his chest.</p>
<p>“Sam…”</p>
<p>“Steve…”</p>
<p>“I just couldn’t do it, Sam. I just… I <i>couldn’t.”</i></p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is the most improbable, ridiculous arranged marriage/marriage of convenience story you’ve ever read. I admit this. I own this. I make no explanations or apologies, because I am winging this and just tossing it together as it comes to me. My muse is a drunk bitch.</p>
<p>Thank her for this next chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Why are wedding clothes always so complicated?” Steve complained as he stood in the tailor’s fitting room, allowing the assistant to make adjustments to the jacket. He unpinned the hem of the cuff, letting it down a half an inch and repinning it to adjust the hang. </p>
<p>The jacket was a deep gray with long tails and a narrow, fitted waist that fit Steve like a glove, The waistcoat was a brocade of gray and soft blue silk that brought out his eyes, matched with a blue silk cravat. Darker gray, pinstriped trousers made him appear even taller than usual, even before he stepped into the polished leather shoes with hard soles and slightly higher heel than he was accustomed to.</p>
<p>“They aren’t complicated, Steven. Call them ‘elegant.’ Or ‘dapper,’” Sam corrected him. “Or ‘suave.’”</p>
<p>Steve reached back and tugged at the seat of the trousers. “They feel like they’re crawling up my bum-”</p>
<p>“Good heavens, stop that!”</p>
<p>The tailor’s assistant bit his lip. “Do I need to adjust the fit, sir?”</p>
<p>“No, you simply need to get me out of his monkey suit, That’s how I look, Sam. Like a dancing monkey. Just throw me a coin or two.”</p>
<p>“That won’t be enough to buy back the farm from the bank,” Sam reminded him. “You look sharp. Almost as sharp as me.”</p>
<p>“I’ll try to remain just as humble, Samuel.”</p>
<p>Sam rolled his eyes and chuckled. “I can’t wait to stand up for you.”</p>
<p>“It’s kind of you to do my uncle’s job for him, just like Abraham did for him when my mother passed.” Steve’s tone was bland, but Sam still detected the note of sourness and resentment.</p>
<p>“I will always stand up for you. You know that, Steve.” He reached for his shoulder and squeezed it. “It’s what brothers do.”</p>
<p>It had been their childhood game, as well as a pact that they had made. Darlene treated Steve like her second son, and Sarah held Sam in the same regard.</p>
<p>“We were supposed to meet.”</p>
<p>“Then, why haven’t you?”</p>
<p>“Things keep getting in the way.”</p>
<p>They were supposed to sit in the same pew at Sunday services. But James apparently developed a terrible cough. And George and Winifred were out of town, having traveled by train to visit one of George’s sisters and to shop for a ball gown for Rebecca. George’s butler relayed this news to Steve as he waited in the third pew from the front.</p>
<p>The next time, Steve missed their first meeting when he had to repair his wagon’s broken wheel.</p>
<p>The next time, Steve had to shoo his turkeys off the roof of the barn and get them back into the pen. That took all morning.</p>
<p>The next time, James had a family event at his aunt Catherine’s. Pity.</p>
<p>The more often they managed to miss each other, the more Steve began to feel relieved, as though they might not have to go through with this farce.</p>
<p>Except that he’d already accepted his proposal. </p>
<p>George offered to host an engagement party. Steve wrote back an adamant refusal. Steve abhorred wastefulness, and he felt that the wedding was already an exorbitant expense. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Winifred removed her tiny reading glasses and exclaimed, “My word! Whoever heard of such a thing? He refused! Who refuses an engagement party?”</p>
<p>“Perhaps he is just nervous at large gatherings?”</p>
<p>“Ridiculous,” she told Bucky. “Preposterous! How rude. Oh, Bucky, I hope that when you two marry, you can come to an agreement about what constitutes proper conduct and graciousness.”</p>
<p>“Can we remember for a moment that this wedding was not his idea? Nor was it mine?” Bucky suggested gently.</p>
<p>Winifred wandered off to her garden, grumbling all the way about ungrateful sons and sons-in-law. Bucky felt grateful to his mystery fiancee at this point for sparing him from a party that promised to be stuffy and barely tolerable.</p>
<p>Bucky read the note to himself. He enjoyed the masculine, bold slant of his penmanship. “I find I cannot condone such an expense or participate in such an event when I have the management of my household and farm to occupy me. Please accept my apologies.” He didn’t call them “humble” apologies, or “ardent” apologies, or even “utmost” apologies. Steven didn’t appear to be asking for much forgiveness, or for permission to eschew the festivities. He was simply telling Bucky’s parents, and perhaps Bucky himself, “That’s just too bad.”</p>
<p>Bucky was thoroughly intrigued.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the meantime, Sam was a godsend.</p>
<p>He stopped by frequently to counsel Steve on etiquette. He took Steve to his barber and trimmed his mop of sandy brown waves into a shape that left his nape bare and flattered the shape of his firm jaw and high forehead. </p>
<p>“Well, aren’t you pretty as a picture,” Sam teased as the barber showed Steve his reflection in the mirror.</p>
<p>“It’s not terrible.”</p>
<p>“Would you care for a shave, sir?”</p>
<p>“No. Just… no.” Steve wasn’t in the mood for that much change yet. His beard was easier to maintain than a smooth jaw when he worked on the farm. And he was just fond of it. Used to it.</p>
<p>Sam and Steve had “supper practice” and Sam would coach him on using the correct fork and proper spoon, how to work his way in toward the plate with his utensils, how to fold his napkin, how to hold his glass. How not to slurp his soup. So many fussy details.</p>
<p>“You scoop with your fork turned out, so you don’t appear to be eating too hungrily,” Sam reminded him for the tenth time, demonstrating it again the night before.</p>
<p>“How else would I appear, if I’m actually hungry? It’s not like he doesn’t know I work on a farm, Sam.”</p>
<p>Sam dragged his palm down his face and made an aggrieved noise. “Again.”</p>
<p>Sam took him to his fittings, including to the jeweler’s for Steve’s wedding ring, since that was another detail he hadn’t even considered. To the bakery for the wedding cake. Bucky’s family chef, Pietro, and his staff would be creating the banquet following the ceremony.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Steve wondered if his mother was watching from heaven, wondering how things went this far awry after leaving Steve to his own devices.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Winifred threw herself full-tilt into arranging the wedding, since Steve’s mother was no longer alive to offer varying opinions or rivalry of any sort. She filled George and Bucky’s ears with questions and opinions about flowers and candles and runners for the aisle and table cloths for the reception. George sighed over the expense, but he shouldn’t have been surprised. Winifred squabbled about appointments for herself and Becca at the seamstress’ shop and the milliner’s, and the cobbler’s. Then she dragged Bucky to fitting after fitting <i>after fitting</i> with the tailor’s.</p>
<p>“Is Steve’s suit finished?” he asked hopefully.</p>
<p>“Yes, it is, sir.”</p>
<p>“May I see it?”</p>
<p>“No. No, you may not.”</p>
<p>Bucky’s brows beetled together, but Winifred actually agreed.</p>
<p>“If the groom may not see the bride in her finery until the morning of the wedding, then the same would apply to the groom seeing his <i>groom</i>.”</p>
<p>Bucky didn’t even have the energy to argue with his parents at this point. He simply let the tailor and his assistant move him around like a life-sized doll as they hemmed and pinned and tucked. </p>
<p>Bucky wondered who they were trying to impress while they married him off. For land ownership.</p>
<p>How had his life become so strange? And when had it stopped being his?</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bucky went home that evening and retired upstairs to his room, taking a lantern with him. He set it down on the vanity and then lit two more candles on his desk. Bucky found his manuscript, a work in progress that he added on to in bits and spurts. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The protagonist, Stefan, started the story as a slight, skinny towhead in careworn clothing who loved to draw, and who never backed down from a fight. Bucky lingered over what he had already written for a while, nodding before he dipped his pen into the inkwell and began to write.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Steve worked himself to the bone, needing the distraction from his upcoming nuptials. Any time that he didn’t spend on the farm, he spent at the market, selling his eggs and produce and bartering with the other vendors. One day, he received a package in the post. He cut open the string and lifted the lid of the box and found several small envelopes filled with cream-colored cards.</p>
<p>Invitations.</p>
<p>None of them were addressed. Steve could invite whomever he wanted to the wedding he didn’t want. How <i>exciting</i>.</p>
<p>Steve sighed and stalked back into the house. He fought the urge to upend the contents directly into the fireplace.</p>
<p>Instead, he contemplated the box, and slowly, painstakingly addressed a scant handful of cards to his narrow circle of friends. Their presence might help him endure the day more gracefully.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The day arrived, impeccably sunny and mild. Sam convinced Steve to stay with him at his parents’ home so that they could get ready together. He wanted to oversee Steve’s grooming for his special day and stand up for him with both of them cutting a dash.</p>
<p>“Have a nip of brandy. It might help you sleep.”</p>
<p>“So might a sharp enough blow to the head, Sam.”</p>
<p>“Are you planning to be this dramatic when you meet your husband?”</p>
<p>“Ideally, I should have met him by now, wouldn’t you agree?”</p>
<p>“Ideally,” Sam agreed blandly. “This is unorthodox, to say the least.” Sam went to his dresser and picked up the letters that Steve had pulled from his jacket pocket when he arrived. “Perhaps the family thinks that anticipation will sweeten your first encounter.”</p>
<p>“Our first encounter should have led to courtship, not the altar.”</p>
<p>“Sometimes, a first encounter <i>does</i> lead to the altar.”</p>
<p>“Not so directly, Samuel.”</p>
<p>“I wish my choices weren’t so limited.”</p>
<p>“You have the choice not to make it.”</p>
<p>“No, I don’t.”</p>
<p>“Yes, Steve, you do. You could find other work. You could do something else with your artistic talent -”</p>
<p>“I could never sell enough paintings to keep bread on the table or a roof over my head,” Steve snapped.</p>
<p>Sam’s mouth tightened, and he exhaled a ragged breath through his nose.</p>
<p>“Sorry.”</p>
<p>“<i>I’m</i> sorry, Steve. It shouldn’t have come to this. Your uncle shouldn’t have gambled away your mother’s legacy.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know him. And he doesn’t know me. What if I make him a terrible husband?”</p>
<p>“Steve, you couldn’t!” Then Sam backtracked. “Unless he’s looking for someone suave. Or well groomed. Because in those regards, you <i>are</i> an absolute disaster.”</p>
<p>Steve’s smile nearly cracked his face, and he reached over and pelted Sam with a pillow, making his friend cackle. Sam reached over and picked up another pillow and lammed Steve upside the head with it in umbrage, and Steve feigned injury, flopping onto his back with the impact. </p>
<p>Sam shook his head. “He will love you, once he knows you. Even if we don’t dust you off and spit-polish you, he will look in here,” and Sam poked Steve in the center of his chest, “and see who you are. He will see ‘Home’ when he looks you in the eye.”</p>
<p>“He may only see hard work and poor judgment when he sees my actual home.”</p>
<p>“Stop that.”</p>
<p>“Sam-”</p>
<p>“Stop it, Steve. We need to get you ready. It’s time to make that man’s heart flutter.”</p>
<p>Steve once again refused a shave, but Sam insisted on letting his dressing valet come in and trim it, neatening it so that the line of his jaw was stronger, hoping it made him look more confident.</p>
<p>Sam strong-armed Steve into the bathtub and washed his hair for him, scrubbing under his fingernails and even having the temerity to peek behind and inside his best friend’s ears. </p>
<p>“Good Lord, look at your toenails…”</p>
<p>“That’s simply going too far.”</p>
<p>“There’s such a thing as a marital bed, Steven. You’ll dice his poor feet to ribbons on these talons.”</p>
<p>“Will you leave my feet alone?”</p>
<p>“No,” Sam told him flatly.</p>
<p>Sam’s valet eventually managed to wrestle with Steve’s feet and trim the offending nails into shape, and Steve conceded defeat, finally letting them scrub his back, which actually helped to relax him. They hauled him out of the tub before he could get <i>too</i> comfortable, swaddled him in towels, and began the arduous process of dressing him. </p>
<p>Sam’s valet put the finishing touches on him, combing down a stubborn cowlick and fastening his cufflinks, a sterling silver pair inlaid with tiny pearls, a gift from his groom. </p>
<p>Sam looked him over. “Goodness gracious, look at you.”</p>
<p>“I don’t want them to,” he admitted. “I feel ridiculous.”</p>
<p>“Can you muster up some excitement instead? Just a little?”</p>
<p>Steve remained silent, throwing up his hands.</p>
<p>“We’re still going to the church. With you dressed in your glad rags.” Sam plucked the top hat with its elegant gray satin ribbon from the hat stand and plopped it onto Steve’s head, giving it a careful press and straightening it for him. “Try to act <i>glad</i>.” He gentled his words with a hug, and Sam felt his oldest friend’s arms tighten around him, and he heard Steve’s breath hitch. “All right. It’s all right. It will be over soon. You’ll meet your new groom. He will likely treat you well.”</p>
<p>Oh, how Steve knew the consequences of people in his life who hadn’t.</p>
<p>He stewed over it on the carriage ride to the cathedral. He heard the soft tinkle of piano music from the steps as they climbed them. Steve’s stomach was knotted with frustration and tension.</p>
<p>“You look a little pale. Don’t you dare swoon on me, Rogers.”</p>
<p>But Sam squeezed his hand as he led him inside. The usher greeted them carefully and pulled them inside.</p>
<p>“You may wait in this room, here. Your groom and his family are already inside. Your groom is anxious, just like you are. Look at you.” He smiled. “The two of you will cut a dash.”</p>
<p>That didn’t comfort him. Not one bit. But going into the small room helped. There was a low platform meant for kneeling in prayer, surrounded by a gleaming wooden railing.</p>
<p>“I will stay with you,” Sam promised.</p>
<p>“Oh, no, sir,” the usher corrected Sam. “His family needs to walk him down. His parents, or-”</p>
<p>“They are not here, and I am his family,” Sam insisted.</p>
<p>“That’s… unusual.”</p>
<p>Because this was such a typical, garden variety wedding, Steve didn’t say, even though it lingered temptingly on the tip of his tongue.</p>
<p>“Sam,” Steve suggested hollowly, “can you go out there for a minute and tell me who is out there?”</p>
<p>Sam huffed. “As in, every single person?”</p>
<p>“No, just… if there are any familiar faces.”</p>
<p>Sam gave him a warm smile. “My pleasure, Steve.” Sam turned on his heel and shooed the usher out along with him, closing the door behind him to give Steve some peace.</p>
<p>Sam entered the chapel and glanced around, and he was met with smiles from multiple pews. “Dugan!” he called out as he rushed over to shake Timothy’s hand. He towered over Sam and was built like a bulldog. His mustache was impressive, to say the least, and he still had strawberry red hair cropped in unruly waves. “Logan? Is that you?”</p>
<p>“Who else would it be?” He clapped Sam on the shoulder, and Sam mused to himself, Could none of his friends manage their beards? Or even their sideburns? But he looked well, even dapper in his dark brown suit and gold cravat. “Where is Rogers?”</p>
<p>“Taking a moment.”</p>
<p>The piano music suddenly gained accompaniment by a sweet, clear soprano. Sam looked up and saw a lovely young woman in a pale pink gown dripping in ruffles and flounces and a matching hat that sat atop her gleaming, chestnut brown curls. She was singing a hymn so capably and with rapture. Sam just allowed himself to listen for a moment before he greeted several of his and Steve’s mutual friends. </p>
<p>“Clint. You clean up nicely.”</p>
<p>“This one made me,” he claimed, nodding to the petite, striking redhead at his side.</p>
<p>“We haven’t had the pleasure, I don’t think.”</p>
<p>“We haven’t. Barton, introduce us, already!”</p>
<p>Sam greeted her display of sass with a smile and extended his hand. He kept his grip soft, and she showed him her dimples to reward him.</p>
<p>“May I have the genuine pleasure of introducing you to Miss Natasha Romanova. Nat,” and Sam was again flummoxed by the familiarity, “this is Samuel Wilson. His father is Reverend Wilson.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Goodness.”</p>
<p>“My father will marry these two to each other, but it was my duty to bring Steven here and to stand up for him.”</p>
<p>“It takes a village to marry a man off, apparently.”</p>
<p>Her tone was droll. Sam’s heart kicked. Then, he realized he didn’t know how deep the friendship ran between Natasha and Clint. Clint didn’t shed any light on the subject with his introduction.</p>
<p>Sam approached the front of the church, and the groom’s eyes automatically swung his way.</p>
<p><i>Good Lord</i>.</p>
<p>He was <i>breathtaking</i>. His eyes. His cheekbones. The clever little cleft in his chin. That <i>physique</i>. Those soft, deep pink <i>lips</i>.</p>
<p>“Goodness gracious,” Sam muttered.</p>
<p>The young man’s brows beetled slightly, but he offered Sam a polite smile. “I beg your pardon?”</p>
<p>“Forgive me… hello! Good morning. I’m Sam. Samuel Wilson. I’m Steve’s… his friend. His oldest friend. We’re like brothers.”</p>
<p>Sam recovered quickly and found himself enjoying the young man’s firm handshake. “Good morning, Sam. It’s nice to meet you, I’m B-”</p>
<p>“James,” Reverend Paul interrupted, “I think we are ready to begin.”</p>
<p>He beckoned to Rebecca and the pianist, who quickly wrapped up the hymn, and Sam decided a better introduction could wait for the reception. He liked him already. His demeanor and grace, his pleasantly deep voice… honestly, Sam was ready to marry him <i>himself</i>. And Bucky, despite the situation at hand, actually seemed … eager.</p>
<p>“I’ll be back with someone you would like to meet,” Sam promised, and he strode up the aisle toward the tiny rectory. </p>
<p>Sam watched the usher greet the last of the guests and show them to their pews, and he paused a moment outside the rectory door. He rapped on it gently.</p>
<p>“Steve?” he called out. “It’s time, brother. Your groom is quite the-” He didn’t wait for Steve to beckon him inside, and Sam’s words evaporated on his lips.</p>
<p>The room was empty. The proud top hat with its gleaming gray ribbon sat on the railing.</p>
<p>“- fashion plate,” Sam finished. His heart sank. “Oh, dear Lord in heaven. <i>Steve.</i> Oh, no.” Sam bit his knuckle. This wouldn’t do <i>at all</i>.</p>
<p>James wanted what his parents had, but he wanted to do it in his own time, on his own effort. An arranged marriage sounded less than ideal, no matter what the possible benefits. </p>
<p>Obviously, his groom had similar opinions on the subject.</p>
<p>“Where’s Steven?” The piano music signaling his entry stopped when the assembled guests saw that the second groom wasn’t walking down the white brocade runner. Bucky grew antsy and confused, but he maintained his smile as he waited for Sam to round the corner and come down the aisle with his groom.</p>
<p>Sam returned… emptyhanded.</p>
<p>“James,” he began.</p>
<p>“What is happening? Where is he?” Winifred demanded. High spots of color rose up into her cheeks.</p>
<p>“Where’s Steven?” Rebecca added as she flanked her brother’s side and gently laid her palm against his lower back, lending him quiet support.</p>
<p>“Please tell me he is coming any moment now,” Bucky pleaded softly.</p>
<p>Sam exhaled gustily and shook his head. Bucky saw sorrow and a thousand apologies in those dark eyes. His own stung, and he blinked hard in an attempt to clear them. He had to look away, and his fist clenched at his side.</p>
<p>“Excuse me,” Sam offered, even though he felt like he was fleeing the scene of a crime.</p>
<p>So, he fled.</p>
<p>Paul and Darlene attempted to undo some of the damage. Paul gave a pleasant homily about community and family, expressing his pleasure at seeing so many familiar faces among the assembled guests. Like Sam, he could work a room. The pianist resumed the previous hymn, and Becca got up to sing it again, but with much less enthusiasm than before. George tried to take Bucky aside, but he gently waved him off.</p>
<p>“Father, let me take care of this,” he whispered. “Please.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He interrupted Becca’s singing again and approached the altar. He stood on the short flight of steps and beckoned to his guests.</p>
<p>“Good morning. I would like to offer my sincerest apologies and thank you for the trouble you took to join us here for our wedding. Except that I regret to inform you that there will be no wedding, after all. It requires that there be two people to join in matrimony. We appear to have subtracted one from the equation. Again, you have my sincerest apologies,” Bucky told them, even though he wasn’t the one at fault.</p>
<p>He felt as though he was, for daring to hope. For going along with his father’s outlandish plan and wishing so ardently that his groom might give him half a chance. Bucky exited the chapel and went into the empty rectory. He closed the door behind himself, removed his hat and pristine white gloves and proceeded to weep himself into a shuddering, sniffling mess. He collapsed against the back of the door and sank down, letting the tears drip down off the tip of his nose. He couldn’t stand the sight of all the shocked expressions, and all of their pity. His heart was broken, even though he hadn’t even had the chance to offer it to Steve yet. Wasn’t that how it usually worked?</p>
<p>He heard Becca’s soft footsteps outside the door and felt the pressure she exerted against it, as though she, too, was leaning against the front side. “Bucky,” she murmured. “Darling brother. Please, don’t be upset.”</p>
<p>“I am. I’m sorry, Becca. I am. I can’t help it. He couldn’t even walk down the aisle to <i>meet me<i>.”</i></i></p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“That’s his loss.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Now what?” Bucky hiccuped as he mopped at his cheeks with his sleeve cuff, until he remembered his immaculately folded handkerchief.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Now, he fends for himself, and you resume your bachelorhood.” She said this glumly, and then Bucky realized that he wasn’t the only one losing the future he had already invested himself in.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Becca still wanted to have a Season. The Barnes’ still needed the space in their home that didn’t include their son the bachelor who would serve as a temptation for Becca’s peers for any balls they hosted or attended. But Becca didn’t remind him of any of this.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>She only told him, “I love you, big brother.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>That made him cry harder, cradling his forehead in his palm. When he came up for a breath, his eye was caught by a dark object across the room.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>The top hat had been swept from the railing when Bucky shoved open the door seemed to stare back at Bucky. Bucky swiped at his damp cheeks and nose and rose to his feet. He crossed the room and picked it up. The brim was still warm. Bucky lifted it to his nose; it smelled slightly of hair pomade.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Becca let herself in and found him staring down at it, clutching it in his grip.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Mother and Father are deciding what to do about the reception banquet.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“It’s a shame to waste it,” Bucky pointed out. “Pretend it’s your party,” he suggested.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“I will do nothing of the sort,” she huffed, but she joined him and hugged him hard. They stood there for a few minutes, and Bucky accepted her comfort.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>*</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>By the time Steve reached the creek, his shoes were thoroughly scuffed. He ran the entire way, wishing he had arrived at the church in his own wagon, or even on horseback. He knew he owed Sam all the apologies, and George Barnes an explanation.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>He would have to back out of the arrangement, and he would lose the farm. Billy would have to look for different work, as would Steve.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>He shed the stifling jacket and suffocating cravat and kicked off the shoes, which were never properly broken in and rubbed the balls of his feet the wrong way from the moment he put them on. The shirt and cufflinks fell onto the growing pile of discarded clothes, along with his socks and garters. Steve realized belatedly that he was missing the ridiculous hat. It sat wrong on him, anyway.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Steve waded in the creek up to his knees, letting the currents ripple and rush against his flesh. The sun warmed his bare back, and he tipped his head back, closing his eyes so he could listen to the breeze rattling the branches overhead.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Steve,” Sam called out to him, breaking his reverie to bits.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Steve turned to him. Sam stood on the bank of the creek, with his hands tucked into the pockets of his crisp trousers. “Thought I’d find you here.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>His voice wasn’t disappointed. His expression was resigned. Steve felt a tightness in his chest.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Sam…”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Steve…”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“I just couldn’t do it, Sam. I just… I <i>couldn’t.”</i></i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>“You accepted the proposal.”</i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>“I have to refuse it, now.”</i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>“You could find another way. You could come back with me to the church, they were still there waiting when I left.”</i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>But Sam saw the tears welling up in his eyes, and they slipped down his cheeks, landing like slick diamonds in his sandy beard. Sam cursed under his breath and beckoned to him. “Come up here, come out of there, damn it, Steven!” Steve hauled himself out of the shallow water and joined him on the bank and Sam gathered him close. His fingers scratched gently at Steve’s scalp and he swayed beneath his weight.</i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>“Clint was there, and Tim, and Logan,” he informed him. “And a few of our old friends from primary.” Then Sam added, “Even Professor Banner came. He’s such a recluse so much of the time.”</i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>“Oh, no,” Steve sobbed. He never meant for Bruce to make the trip and go to so much trouble, only for Steve not to follow through. His friends witnessed his failures. He clung to Sam, who tutted at him and made soothing noises, rubbing his back.</i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>“What are we going to do with you?”</i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>“Let me wallow in my shame.”</i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>“No. I’m talking about that suit, Steve. You don’t just throw silk brocade into the grass. The stains will <i>never</i> come out. Have I taught you <i>nothing</i> by now?”</i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. A Gesture of Good Will</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“I can’t do what he says,” Bucky told her.</p>
<p>“You must!” she told him on a loud whisper. She glanced toward the closed door, worried that the servants might hear their exchange. “You made Father a promise, Bucky.”</p>
<p>He shook his head. “No,” he told her. “James Buchanan Barnes made Father a promise. ‘Bucky’ didn’t.”</p>
<p>“Wait… <i>what?</i> Bucky, what on earth…?”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I’m starting to have fun with this. Have a dose of deception!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bucky sat in the study, feet propped on the ottoman, and he quietly turned the top hat over and over in his hands. A week had gone by since the wedding. Or what passed for a wedding before Bucky found himself publicly abandoned. It still stung.</p>
<p>Far worse, however, was the second letter that arrived yesterday.</p>
<p>“What on earth are you doing, Bucky?”</p>
<p>“Thinking.”</p>
<p>“Don’t work too hard at that. I can see the smoke coming out of your ears.” Becca smirked him and reached down and patted him on the head.</p>
<p>“You’re too kind,” he retorted. “Don’t you have anything better to do than pour salt in my wounds?”</p>
<p>“As a matter of fact, I do. And you are going to go do it with me. Father said he is going to the bank, and I can ride with him in the carriage so that I can stop at the confectioner’s.”</p>
<p>“What makes you think I’m in the mood for sweets?”</p>
<p>“Because since when <i>aren’t</i> you?” she teased.</p>
<p>Bucky ducked his face and chuckled, sighing. “Fine, then. Brat. I will go with you.”</p>
<p>“You should. A bit of fresh air and a change of scenery would do you some good. Get your backside out of that chair and get it into a saddle, even, perhaps.”</p>
<p>“My backside is fine right where it is,” he argued.</p>
<p>“It might be even <i>more</i> comfortable behind a desk, while you do some meaningful work,” George suggested as he rounded the corner, holding his bowler hat under his arm. “I was thinking you could come to the office with me next week.”</p>
<p>Bucky recoiled. He stood up quickly from the chair and set the hat on the ottoman. “Are you certain that’s the right place for me, Father? I really don’t have a head for business-”</p>
<p>“You always did just fine in math. Your scores in economics and accounting were impeccable. You might fit right in, James.”</p>
<p>“I don’t have a passion for it, though.”</p>
<p>“Would you have a passion for making <i>money</i>?” George inquired. “Keeping a roof over your head all of these years is something I’m rather passionate about.”</p>
<p>“That might be easier to do if you weren’t paying for-”</p>
<p>Bucky stopped himself, clapping his mouth shut, wondering where the intrusive, impertinent thought came from.</p>
<p>George’s brows drew together. “If I wasn’t paying for <i>what</i>, son?”</p>
<p>Bucky turned away from him and picked up Steve’s top hat. He ran his hands over the brim.</p>
<p>“I’ve given him notice,” George informed Bucky. “The bank was lenient with him, and I’m extending that leniency.” George paused. “For a while.”</p>
<p>That snapped Bucky to attention, and he felt himself break out in a rash of sweat. “Father, what do you mean?”</p>
<p>“He will have six months to tend the farm. And if he manages to raise the money to pay off the note, the farm is self-sufficient and turns a profit, then I will sign it over to him. If not, however…” George shrugged. “Then I will evict him.”</p>
<p>Bucky’s mouth worked. “What…”</p>
<p>“The farm is a burden on him, James. Clearly, it is.”</p>
<p>“Yet, you were ready to pay <i>me</i> an income to help him run it?” Bucky folded his arms. “In exchange for <i>marriage</i>?” he scoffed. “Was the farm - <i>his farm</i> - meant to be some sort of- of, of <i>dowry</i>?”</p>
<p>“Of course not! What a ridiculous notion!”</p>
<p>“Is it?”</p>
<p>“Don’t be absurd, and mind your tongue, James!”</p>
<p>“Father. Listen to <i>me</i>.” Bucky planted his hands on his hips, and George just as adamantly folded his arms over his chest, pulling himself up to his full height. Which… understandably intimidated Bucky, since George was rather <i>tall</i>. Bucky felt his face flush all the way down his neck, but pride also leapt into his spine.</p>
<p>“Only if you don’t plan to try to sway my decision or argue with my judgment.” George raised his brows. Bucky opened his mouth, but George added, “Because as I told you, I gave him notice. I’m sending him an additional letter spelling out the terms.”</p>
<p>Bucky turned ashen. “When did you send it?”</p>
<p>“Two days ago.”</p>
<p>“By post?”</p>
<p>“By messenger,” George informed him. </p>
<p>“<i>Father</i>.”</p>
<p>“It’s Steve’s farm!” Bucky cried. “It’s his! It belongs to his family-”</p>
<p>“His family gambled it away,” George reminded him. “It was supposed to be held in trust, and his uncle failed in that task.”</p>
<p>“So you’re going to take advantage of his mishandling of Steve’s family’s property?”</p>
<p>“No. I saw an opportunity to acquire a property that would benefit <i>our</i> family. And you will still have the opportunity to oversee its growth, and its potential, <i>but.</i>” George put up his index finger sharply. “<i>But.</i> You are not to interfere with his day-to-day handling of the farm. You are not to help him. You are not to give him monetary gifts. You are not to contact him in person or in writing.”</p>
<p>“You won’t show him compassion? He’s already lost everything, Father!”</p>
<p>“He gave up an opportunity, but-” George’s voice rose a notch, then he thought better of it.</p>
<p>“But what, Father?”</p>
<p>“Don’t question me. Don’t question my decision.”</p>
<p>“Father-”</p>
<p>“Don’t, James!”</p>
<p>“Father!”</p>
<p>“<i>That’s the last I will hear of this! He had his chance! And he humiliated us</i>!”</p>
<p>Bucky’s eyes sparked. He turned his eyes down to the floor. Down to his hard leather shoes, exquisite, expensive. Polished to an impeccable gleam. If he scuffed them, he could throw them out. Buy a new pair, custom-fit. “<i>Us,</i> Father?”</p>
<p>George realized in that moment that he went too far. “James-”</p>
<p>“So. That’s what this is really about. Dignity.”</p>
<p>“James Buchanan Barnes.” George’s voice grew soft, but it shook with emotion. “Listen to me. Closely. Sincerely.” George took Bucky’s shoulders in his firm, warm grip. “Promise me that you will obey my wishes.”</p>
<p>Bucky’s jaw tilted itself at a mulish angle, but his father wouldn’t be swayed by it or by the hurt look in his son’s soft gray eyes.</p>
<p>“Swear to me. I, James Buchanan Barnes, promise that I will not contact, assist, or engage Steven Rogers in any manner whatsoever.”</p>
<p>After a long pause, Bucky swallowed and gave his father a stiff smile. “I. James Buchanan… Barnes… promise that I will not contact, assist or engage Steven Rogers in any manner whatsoever.”</p>
<p>George gently patted his cheek, then kissed his temple. “I’m sorry, but this must be done. Let’s be done with this unpleasant business.”</p>
<p>Becca watched them, aghast but silent. Her hands flew up and covered her lips. She quietly backed away, not wanting to interfere when her father was so determined that he was right, and when her brother was fighting to hold his composure. </p>
<p>Her heart broke for him.</p>
<p>George, too, backed away, releasing him. “The carriage is waiting out front. This shouldn’t take long. Your sister wanted to stop at the confectioner’s.”</p>
<p>It was on the tip of Becca’s tongue to insist that she didn’t have an appetite, but as soon as she opened her mouth, she saw Bucky give her a pointed look. Her brow quirked, but she turned to her father and gave him an even smile.</p>
<p>“Don’t dither, Becca. Come along, now, if you wish to go.”</p>
<p>“Yes, Father, of course.”</p>
<p>When Bucky preceded her out of the study, she told George, “Father, let me get my jacket, it’s quite chilly out.”</p>
<p>“Do hurry.”</p>
<p>So of <i>course</i> she followed Bucky upstairs, dashing up after him as quickly as her full skirts would allow.</p>
<p>“Bucky!” she hissed as soon as they reached the landing. “I’m so sorry. Father, he… he couldn’t mean-”</p>
<p>“Oh, but he could,” Bucky scoffed. He gripped his nape, tugging on the back of his hair.</p>
<p>“He wants what’s best for you. He doesn’t mean to hurt you, but I know this isn’t what you want by far!”</p>
<p>“I don’t know what I want, anymore. I don’t know whether to even call this ‘freedom.’ Am I truly free? He wanted me to marry Steve. Now, he wants me to have no contact with him at all. He <i>forbids</i> it. Am I a <i>child</i>?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>She followed him into his room instead of collecting her coat. “So.” She closed the door after herself and sat on the edge of the bed. “What will you do?”</p>
<p>“That letter will destroy him.”</p>
<p>“Maybe he already has it. He has to. Father sent it by messenger.”</p>
<p>“He’s going to feel as though his world has come to an end, Becca.”</p>
<p>“Bucky,” Becca told him, steeling herself for his reaction, “he <i>hurt</i> you. What he did was a slap in the face.”</p>
<p>“For Father?”</p>
<p>“No. For <i>you</i>.” Becca didn’t employ one shred of George’s restraint, giving words to the resentment in his heart. “I watched you when you came home. When you went out to the stable.”</p>
<p>Bucky glared at her and drew himself up, then turned from her. He walked toward the window, leaning his forehead on the cool glass pane. Then, his fist slammed against the frame, startling her.</p>
<p>“Don’t,” he pleaded. His voice was quiet. Wounded. “Please, Becca, don’t.”</p>
<p>What was one tear. What were a thousand of them.</p>
<p>“I can’t do what he says,” Bucky told her.</p>
<p>“You must!” she told him on a loud whisper. She glanced toward the closed door, worried that the servants might hear their exchange. “You made Father a promise, Bucky.”</p>
<p>He shook his head. “No,” he told her. “James Buchanan Barnes made Father a promise. ‘Bucky’ didn’t.”</p>
<p>“Wait… <i>what?</i> Bucky, what on earth…?”</p>
<p>“He hasn’t even met me, Becca. We have not even made direct contact yet. He only knows my name by word of mouth, so far. Father has dealt with him in writing. He received my notes asking him for a meeting before the wedding.”</p>
<p>“For all the good that did.”</p>
<p>“He’s a busy man. After all, he owns a farm.”</p>
<p>“Father owns the farm, big brother.”</p>
<p>“For now,” Bucky said.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>An idea bloomed, taking root and sending up fragile tendrils and bringing with it a frisson of excitement.</p>
<p>It was just so insane that it <i>might work</i>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>George waited in the carriage, making a low, sputtering sound of annoyance. “Where is that daughter of mine?” He remembered himself saying very clearly, <i>Don’t dither, Becca. Come along, now, if you wish to go.</i> George wondered what part of that request grew lost in translation.</p>
<p>But moments later, before he could tell his driver, Edgar, to make haste and that he would be traveling alone, Becca rushed out of the house, bonnet ribbons fluttering and clutching her reticule. Her expression was sheepish.</p>
<p>“May we leave now, daughter of mine?” George asked dryly as she climbed inside.</p>
<p>She flushed. “Apologies, Papa, but Bucky is on his way.”</p>
<p>That surprised George. “I wasn’t sure he wished to accompany me.” Not “accompany us.” Becca caught her father’s underlying intent and brushed it off.</p>
<p>“When have you ever known Bucky to stay behind when sweets were involved? He wanted to go with me to the confectioner’s.”</p>
<p>George huffed and rolled his eyes, but he felt an odd sense of relief when his oldest child exited the house and joined them in the carriage. His eyes were bright and clear, and his expression was calm, which gave George pause.</p>
<p>“May we go into town, now? My letter is burning a hole in my pocket. I would like to send it in the post,” George told him.</p>
<p>“Proceed, Father,” Bucky agreed easily as he settled into the seat opposite his father and Becca. Becca raised her brows at him, but Bucky merely gave her a calm smile.</p>
<p>The day was clear and bright. Bucky hoped that Steve was enjoying the sunshine and mild temperature, knowing that he was working outside and was no doubt very, very busy. It hit Bucky in that moment that his own afternoon would entail more leisurely pursuits. A trip to the confectioner’s. A stroll with his younger sister. A carriage ride with the warm, light breeze blowing in through the windows. Casual conversations with shop clerks. Perhaps another conversation with Father about his future, now that he was no longer betrothed.</p>
<p>Then again, that remained to be seen. </p>
<p>Didn’t it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Becca chattered away, in an attempt to chase away the previous tension and, perhaps, Bucky thought, just to hear herself talk. He found that he didn’t mind. They reached town slowly, and he tapped his fingers on his knee absently, not realizing that he was emulating his father’s own habit. Becca huffed slightly when she noticed it but said nothing.</p>
<p>Men. They could be so stubborn, sometimes.</p>
<p>Edgar stopped the carriage and the Barneses stepped out onto the street. Becca suddenly smiled and called out, “Ororo! ORORO! Hello, dear!” Bucky saw her speaking to the striking young woman who suddenly sparked his memory, a brief one from his childhood.</p>
<p>“She went to school with us?”</p>
<p>“Yes, silly! You remember her! She was friends with Emma. Slightly.” Rebecca chuckled. “They claimed to be the dearest friends, but then they would argue like cats. Oh, it would be lovely to chat with her again.”</p>
<p>“Go,” he suggested. “I will go with Father to send the letter.”</p>
<p>George looked taken aback. “You can go with your sister. You should escort her-”</p>
<p>“I won’t accompany her and interrupt her time for gossiping with her friend,” Bucky argued. “She hardly needs a chaperone for a trip to the sweet shop.”</p>
<p>Becca glanced back at George, who impatiently waved her off, and she hurried to meet Ororo, who smiled and welcomed Becca with open arms. She was tall, curvaceous and stately in her day gown of deep, amethyst purple and a hat trimmed with silk flowers. Bucky returned her brief wave, and the two young women walked off toward Clint’s sweet shop, arm in arm.</p>
<p>George wanted to argue back that <i>oh, yes, she did,</i> but he thought better of it. “Suit yourself. Step lively, now.” George strode down the street, and Bucky fell into step beside him, biting his lip. Step lively, indeed. They waded through the throngs of townsfolk, breathing in the scents of savory foods sold at vendors’ carts. Bucky found himself caught up in another fleeting childhood memory of walking like this with George when he was younger, smaller, clinging to his father’s hand as passerby smiled at the likeness they shared. <i>The lad is your miniature,</i> they would tell Mr. Barnes. <i>Chip off the old block.</i> And Bucky would feel himself warm to it, while George puffed up with pride.</p>
<p>Bucky felt the invisible cloak of awkwardness that settled over him since the argument in the study. It was off-putting to wonder if his father was still proud of him. Even as they walked down the street, it felt as though George was trying to keep one to two steps ahead of him. It chafed him.</p>
<p>They entered the post office and stood in the short line, and Bucky silently counted to five, giving himself the chance to muster his nerve.</p>
<p>Heaven must have been listening to his prayer. Bucky had merely been toying with the idea of lifting - borrowing - the letter from his father’s jacket pocket, but a different opportunity presented itself. </p>
<p>“Thomas Logan?” George called out to a large, burly man with unruly dark hair and flinty brown eyes. “Is that you?”</p>
<p>The man turned around from where he stood at the telegram desk. “As I live and breathe, you old rascal! It is you, Barnes!” He rushed forward and had the tall, broad-shouldered blond who shared his craggy-featured looks hold his place in line. “I remember when you left town all those years ago! Is this your son? Johnny, was it?”</p>
<p>“No, no. James.”</p>
<p>“Chip off the old block. Bet his name shows up on every dance card in the room,” Thomas mused as he raked his eyes over Bucky. “Wish my Victor here would take a page out of your son’s book. He could use a little polish, but the ladies don’t exactly lower their eyes around him, eh? Heh!” As if on cue, Victor grunted and poked the tip of his finger into his nostril and gave it a hearty scratch. Bucky watched him in repulsed amusement as Victor turned away slightly and gave the rear of his trousers a slight tug where they had rode up between his buttocks; Bucky’s brows flew up into his hairline. Victor gave him an accusing look when he caught him staring, and Bucky cleared his throat and smiled before looking away.</p>
<p>Thomas and George began to catch up on old times, much to the annoyance of the onlookers who had to skirt around them to find their place in line. An idea bloomed in Bucky’s head as he watched his father absently remove the letter from his pocket. His thumb stroked it thoughtfully, as though the letter was talking to him. <i>Mail me so we can depart from his odious company. I’m begging you.</i></p>
<p><i>Soon</i>, George’s thumb silently promised.</p>
<p>“...and the missus has been getting on in years, but she’s still curvy enough to catch my eye! She’s never shied away from spreading the dripping on thick, if you know what I mean!”</p>
<p>“You’re a lucky man. Lovely wife, big, strapping son…” George offered kindly.</p>
<p>“But the old gout’s been flaring up something fierce,” Thomas informed him, and George smothered a sigh.</p>
<p>“Er, Father, why don’t I…?” Bucky leaned over briefly, motioning to the letter.</p>
<p>“Nonsense, James, I can take care of it,” George insisted as he clutched it to his chest.</p>
<p>
  <i>Damn it!</i>
</p>
<p>George and Thomas continued to dither about more mundane subjects and Thomas’ various foibles. George nodded like a bird struggling with a worm in the ground, constantly clearing his throat and biting back half-formed excuses to leave.</p>
<p>“...have you heard from that son-in-law of yours? I heard the news. Quite a shame. Guess he isn’t your son-in-law after all, is he? That Rogers chap?”</p>
<p>“Fortunately <i>not</i>.”</p>
<p>“There, there, Georgie. No hard feelings. The right one will come along any minute for your boy, won’t they?”</p>
<p>“Perhaps they will, in due time.”</p>
<p>“You make it sound like he’ll be a bachelor forever! HA!”</p>
<p>No, Bucky mused. But they would all be old and gray before Thomas finished giving his unasked for opinion. The minutes dragged on, and Bucky was aware of every nuisance he could name, from his shoes pinching his toes to the ticking of the clock on the wall, which seemed to grow louder every second.</p>
<p>“I seem to recall you had a little girl, as well.”</p>
<p>“She’s always going to be my little girl,” George agreed. “Even when she has her first Season.”</p>
<p>“Is that happening this year?” Thomas asked thoughtfully. “Do you hear that, son? George’s daughter is coming into society! Isn’t that wonderful!”</p>
<p>Victor’s smile resembled a crocodile’s. Bucky responded with a glare that made him recoil slightly. Thomas seemed nonplussed.</p>
<p>Then, Bucky remembered his previous goal. “Here, Father. Let me handle that so you two can enjoy your chat.” Bucky managed to prize the letter from his father’s fingers, abandoning him to the conversation he was trying to escape. George’s eyes pleaded with Bucky for a moment, but Bucky managed to dash to the counter, ignoring the shocked yelp of the woman he inadvertently cut in front of. George cursed under his breath, and Thomas clapped him on the shoulder.</p>
<p>“So young and impulsive, aren’t they?”</p>
<p>“He’s been like that ever since he returned from university,” George decided. “He has… strong opinions about things. But… yes. Impulsive. That description suits James rather well.” He turned his back on his son, so he didn’t see the exchange taking place at the counter.</p>
<p>Bucky spoke to the young man through the barred window. “Good afternoon. I have a letter I would like to mail,” Bucky informed him. </p>
<p>With that, he reached into his jacket and tucked his father’s letter into the waistband of his trousers and pulled the flap of his waistcoat over it. The clerk looked confused.</p>
<p>“Er, that one, sir?”</p>
<p>“No. This one.”</p>
<p>Bucky pulled out a second one from his trouser pocket and handed it over. The envelope was the same cream-colored stationery that George used, complete with an almost identical green wax seal. This, too, was addressed to one Steven Rogers. Bucky penned the note quickly and then dashed into George’s study while Becca “dithered” over getting ready, choosing just the right reticule and gloves, painstakingly pinning her hat, straightening her fichu, and arranging her curls just so before meeting her father in the carriage. She stopped by the study, saw Bucky carefully tucking the note into the envelope, and hissed at him, “Hurry UP!” Bucky fumbled with the book of matches, cursed as the match fought his attempt to light it, and finally managed to spark a tiny flame and light the green candle. He dropped a tidy pool of wax onto the back of the envelope flap and neatly pressed the brass stamper into it, blowing on it to cool it.</p>
<p>“Stall him another minute,” Bucky insisted, and Becca rolled her eyes.</p>
<p>“Just a minute more, or he will leave without either of us,” she told him.</p>
<p>Bucky now slid the envelope through the window and completed the transaction, purchasing postage and accepting the clerk’s promise that the letter would arrive by the end of the week. George struggled on his end to draw the conversation to a close.</p>
<p>Victor eventually spared him. “Father, we need to go.” He tapped his pocket watch impatiently. “We’re due at the barber’s.”</p>
<p>Rather overdue, Bucky wished he could tell him. Both men had thick, unruly waves that hadn’t seen a pair of scissors in several months. Victor had impressive sideburns that made him look rather like an orangutan. </p>
<p>Thomas decided to show George mercy. “We will really need to catch up some other time, then.”</p>
<p>“Of course!”</p>
<p>“Name a day,” Thomas demanded.</p>
<p>George wilted.</p>
<p>Bucky left the counter and decided to do his father a favor. “Becca will dither all day with Miss Munroe, Father, and she will be late for her fitting.”</p>
<p>“You know how young ladies are,” George agreed. “I must go and collect my daughter.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps you could make an introduction between her and my Victor,” Thomas suggested eagerly.</p>
<p>“Perhaps some other time,” George insisted. “We really must go. But, it was refreshing to see you again, Thomas. Do take care of yourself and enjoy this fine afternoon.”</p>
<p>“Er. Right. Good day, then…”</p>
<p>George grabbed Bucky’s elbow and hauled him along after him as though he was seven years old again, and Bucky barely squelched the urge to laugh.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bucky’s heart was still pounding when he reached the sweet shop. Clint was holding court at the counter, describing his new variety of truffles.</p>
<p>“This one is lovely, it’s white chocolate with a bit of orange brandy - oh, look who it is!” he cried, smiling as he stepped out from behind the counter and gave Bucky another of his shoulder-bouncing handshakes. “I’ve talked your sister into trying one of each of my new flavors!”</p>
<p>“And I’m getting a box of each.”</p>
<p>“Nonsense, that’s too many sweets,” George argued, but Becca shook her head and reached into the first box, plucking up one of the truffles.</p>
<p>“This one’s apricot filled.” </p>
<p>George hummed as she crammed it into his mouth. “Hmm. Mmmmm. Mm-hmmm. All right. Perhaps one box-”</p>
<p>“Nonsense, Papa!”</p>
<p>“One mustn’t be profligate or indulge in idle spending.”</p>
<p>“It’s not idle, Papa. I’m supporting a lovely friend’s business.”</p>
<p>“Awwwwwww.” Clint was practically purring beneath her praise. </p>
<p>“I’ll take a box of the dark chocolate ones, if those also come with apricot,” Bucky asked hopefully.</p>
<p>“They certainly do. It would be my genuine pleasure, Mr. Barnes.” Clint winked at him and started packing up another box of candy while George merely sighed.</p>
<p>“Don’t spoil your suppers,” he warned them, as though they were merely five.</p>
<p>George browsed some of the goods at the front of the shop, while Bucky lingered at the back counter. Becca continued to chat with Ororo, who Bucky noticed belatedly, and she nodded to him, giving him a dimpled smile.</p>
<p>“So,” Clint mentioned casually, “I wasn’t expecting you to still be a bachelor the next time I saw you?”</p>
<p>“You were at the church that morning. You could expect nothing else, after that.” Bucky had wondered about that when he took his place at the altar, wondering at the time if Becca had invited him.</p>
<p>Clint winced. “Sorry.”</p>
<p>“So am I. I just wish…” Bucky let his voice trail off.</p>
<p>“Never thought Rogers would have gotten cold feet,” Clint mused.</p>
<p>A tiny divot appeared between Bucky’s brows. “You know him?”</p>
<p>Clint beamed. “Sure! My mother always went to the apothecary shop for Sarah Rogers’ remedies. Little Stevie Rogers always played with me when we were in school.”</p>
<p>Bucky’s memory itched again, but he gave Clint a polite smile.</p>
<p>“I don’t know many of his friends,” Bucky admitted, realizing at the moment that he now only knew all of <i>one</i>. Then, he corrected himself. <i>Two</i>. He’d met Sam Wilson, the vicar’s son and unwitting bearer of bad news.</p>
<p>“So, you two had a short engagement, then?”</p>
<p>“It’s complicated,” Bucky offered. </p>
<p>“I’m begging your pardon for sounding so bold, but… you seem… nice?” Clint told him. “It’s just… from what I know of Steve, and he’s been my friend for the longest time, you just seem like the person who he would enjoying being with. And the two of you were <i>engaged</i>, so…” Clint let his voice trail off. “I guess I can’t see why you two wouldn’t make a good match, is all.” He motioned to Becca and Ororo. “Your sister is an absolute ray of sunshine. I’m tickled pink to call her my friend.”</p>
<p>“Becca? That insufferable twerp?” Bucky raised his voice when he said it, and Clint exchanged grins with him as Becca rose to the bait, mouth gaping, and she stomped over toward him with her folded fan raised to clout him.</p>
<p>“Bucket! You are the most terrible big brother! Do you hear him slandering my character, Papa?”</p>
<p>“Good heavens, will you two stop that?” George sighed. “Do you really need to carry on so in public? Can I not have one peaceful excursion today?”</p>
<p>Becca was still brandishing her fan, and Bucky was using Clint as a shield. Clint dissolved into good-natured cackles and waved her off while Bucky ducked behind his taller friend’s shoulder.</p>
<p>“Come out from behind him, you coward!”</p>
<p>“Only if you put that thing down…”</p>
<p>Clint managed to escape, and Becca managed to swat Bucky once, but George caught the fan on the backswing and told her “Straighten up!” in clipped tones. Becca drew herself up and backed off, but Bucky took that opportunity to stick his thumbs in his ears, waggle his fingers and stick out his tongue, making the most horrendous jeer from behind George’s back. Without so much as a backward glance, George reached back and swatted Bucky upside the head.</p>
<p>“That’s enough of that. <i>Honestly</i>.”</p>
<p>Clint meekly wrapped up the boxes for them and slid them across the counter. Bucky and Becca continued to make faces at each other behind George’s back, and Clint smothered his chuckles in his apron, his cheeks turning a bright pink. George turned to face him, and he immediately straightened up.</p>
<p>“Have a lovely afternoon, you three!”</p>
<p>“Ta-ta!” Becca called out, blowing him kisses that Clint pretended to catch. Not to be outdone, Bucky threw him kisses too, and that sent Clint cackling again.</p>
<p>George was so <i>done</i>.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Let Me Spell It Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Steve receives two letters. The first one dashes his hopes.</p>
<p>The second one stokes the fires of curiosity in his chest.</p>
<p>“That.. that was a pig in his arms.”</p>
<p>“Too big for a turkey,” Billy agreed. “We’ve got some of those, too, but it’s the sheer devil trying to keep them off the roof.”</p>
<p>Bucky wondered what on earth he’d managed to stumble into, when he heard the sow squealing loudly and Steve’s less than dignified curses and pleas.</p>
<p>The afternoon would prove interesting, to say the very <i>least.</i></p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay. So, the last chapter happened. I rarely write a story without posting it a chapter at a time, but then finishing it drags on for MONTHS, and… no. We don’t want that. And I’m the worst kind of feedback hound. But I’m enjoying writing this, anyway.</p>
<p>“Previously, on the last episode of ‘Butter Wouldn’t Melt in His Mouth…’”</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve scrubbed his hand over his beard and sat back on the kitchen stool, feeling resignation and cold dread wash over him. He dropped George Barnes’ letter back onto the table beside the envelope with its broken, green wax seal. “Damn it to hell,” he muttered. He got up and yanked his cap off his head, throwing it across the room with a cry. He stalked over to the doorway and pounded his fist on the frame, as though it was the source of the world’s ills.</p>
<p>He was about to lose everything. The farm, the house, the animals, every stick of furniture… he would have to sell everything that his uncle didn’t deed to the bank just to get by. Billy’s severance pay would be a mere pittance compared to what he deserved.</p>
<p>Steve resented his uncle for losing the farm and his irresponsible habits. He resented Alexander Pierce for his stringent terms on the payment of the mortgage and his eagerness to sell his home to another buyer. He resented George Barnes and his outrageous, ridiculous arrangement that Steve still couldn’t regret backing out of, when it sounded too good to be true.</p>
<p>What kind of man dangled a man’s home like a carrot in front of him as a means of bribing him to marry his son? It defied all reason, and Steve still wondered how he had been so desperate to even consider it. New resolve bloomed in his chest, however, when he saw the last few paragraphs of the letter.</p>
<p>
  <i>I realize that you find yourself alone in the world, now that your mother has passed away, Steven, and you have my sympathies. You are now a man without a family, and I consider family important. And a marriage between two hardworking, intelligent individuals, such as yourself and my son, James, is the cornerstone of our society, and of a happy life. I find myself blessed enough to be married to my dearest, lovely wife, Winifred. When you declined my offer in the most undignified, cowardly manner by refusing to show up for your wedding vows, you showed me that you were unwilling to enter may family, or create a new family bond with James, and you revealed your true character to me. I have no choice but to respect your decision at this time.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>I still wish to add your farm to my holdings, and I have purchased the deed from Alexander Pierce. I am a lenient man in personal dealings, and occasionally, I am accommodating in my business dealings as well. I have chosen to extend your tenancy in your home and your management of the farm for the next six months. Not one day more. Not one day less. At this time, if the farm has turned a profit under your capable hands - I see that you are barely subsisting at the time of this communication - then I will give you the opportunity to buy back the deed. If you carry on as you have up until now, and the farm continues to fail to live up to its profitable potential, or if it lands in the red, then I will resume final ownership and management, and you will forfeit the property in full.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>In the meantime, rest assured that I no longer consider a match between yourself and my son James a prudent arrangement, and I forbid the two of you from having contact with each other, whether it is regarding business or personal matters. I do not wish for you to attempt to meet with him, write to him, or communicate through any messengers or intermediaries. I hope that I have made myself clear on that matter.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>You have squandered a promising and generous opportunity, that I know you will live to regret.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Godspeed,</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>George Barnes</i>
</p>
<p>He didn’t even know how to tell Billy about this change in his circumstances, and he dreaded it. If Steve was flexible in how he read George’s intent from the letter, he was giving him a <i>chance</i>, one that he didn’t think Steve deserved. It was like asking Steve to dance a slow and graceful waltz to the gallows. Six months. They seemed like minutes. Six months to turn a profit, when he had barely been eking out a living. How would he manage to pull it off?</p>
<p>Steve already worked from sunrise to sunset. He ran the farm, did small favors and other paid chores for his neighbors to circulate his skills by word of mouth, and he created artwork by commission. He was already spent, and there were never enough hours in his day already, and now, George Barnes was asking him to defy time itself, and his already lowly station, by turning the farm around. He glanced at the table again. At the stack of bills and his ledger whose column at the end was slipping once again into the red. Steve needed to purchase feed for his animals and seeds to plant his crops. His output was never enough for the cost of running the farm, he couldn’t hire enough hands to help him, he needed food and kerosene and materials to patch the roof and repair the floor, and, and…</p>
<p>Steve wondered why he couldn’t simply be the kind of man to compromise his principles and take the easy way out. Marry some stuffy, comfortably wealthy man’s son. Live like a rich toff. Sure. Steve huffed a bitter laugh.</p>
<p>Was that all that marriage was for? Sarah didn’t marry Joseph for money. His parents felt passion for one another and shared trust, honesty, and laughter, and if Steven was to marry, those were the reasons for him to set foot in the church and say his vows. Not a monthly income. Not the guarantee of the property that should have passed into his hands as his <i>inheritance</i> in the first place. Blast his uncle’s carelessness and profligate, carousing nature.</p>
<p>Steve Rogers worked for every penny, privilege and pleasure, even though the latter were few and far in-between. And he would marry in his own good time, a person of his own <i>choice</i>, without coercion or bribes. And George Barnes? Well… they hardly ran in the same circles. Steve wasn’t likely to encounter him much if he ended up leaving the town for greener pastures. Or <i>any</i> pastures that he didn’t have to fight anyone over or marry someone in order to possess. </p>
<p>Billy found him hacking away at the firewood pile, carefully stacking it into a neat cord along the side of the house. He automatically helped him stack and brought over each new section of log. “Look at you,” he teased. “You’re going at it like a man possessed. What’s gotten into you, Steve?”</p>
<p>“Just making haste while the sun shines,” Steve offered. “If we can get this done quickly enough, we’ll have time to get the milking done and pick the apples.”</p>
<p>Billy shrugged and fell into the rhythm of Steve’s work, and they kept the logs moving onto the block for Steve to chop. They finished up within the hour, and Steve moved along to the barn without preamble or stopping to refresh himself.</p>
<p>“Take a minute and drink something!” Billy nagged as he waved the tin cup at Steve that he dipped into the wooden pail on the edge of the water pump.</p>
<p>“I’m fine,” Steve insisted, even though his shirt was nearly transparent with sweat. Billy still chased him with the water cup and made him drink from it. Steve downed it impatiently, shoved the cup back into his palm, and headed for the cow stalls. Billy sighed gustily and rolled his eyes behind him. He jogged into the house briefly and came back with two thick slices of Steve’s day-old bread spread thickly with jam.</p>
<p>“Here. Can’t have you falling down on the job.”</p>
<p>“I don’t have time for dithering,” Steve told him, but he took a large, grudging bite and nodded his thanks.</p>
<p>“Am I missing something?” Billy asked after a few minutes, chewing on his breakfast as he gathered up his stool and a pail. </p>
<p>“Like what?”</p>
<p>“Like, your husband?” </p>
<p>Billy missed the wedding fiasco, as he and his brother Tommy had visited their uncle in a neighboring town that day, and he wasn’t present to witness Steve’s hasty judgment and subsequent escape.</p>
<p>Steve paused mid-stream in his tug of the cow’s udder, and she lowed at him imperiously to continue. Steve closed his eyes and made a frustrated noise.</p>
<p>“Oh.” Billy paused. “Did something go wrong?”</p>
<p>“We haven’t talked about this,” Steve began.</p>
<p>“About… what?”</p>
<p>“There is no husband. And, soon…” Steve paused this time.</p>
<p>“Soon…?”</p>
<p>“There will be no farm.”</p>
<p>Billy dropped the pail from nerveless fingers and staggered back, face pale. He stumbled back against the wall and cradled his temples in his hand. Steve stood up and rushed to his side. “Billy-”</p>
<p>“Damn it, Steve! Damn it! WHY?!”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, I couldn’t, I just couldn’t do it-”</p>
<p>“Of course you couldn’t,” Billy snapped. “Of course, of course…” Billy laughed, and it was a ragged, hysterical sound tinged with outrage and disbelief. “Of <i>course</i>. Why would I expect any different?”</p>
<p>“What he was asking was insanity, Billy!” Steve cried, throwing up his hands.</p>
<p>“Insanity and the promise of <i>security</i>,” Billy corrected him.</p>
<p>“Was it secure? Could such a thing be secure? Marrying for money? For property? What if it was a terrible match? What if he’s truly a terrible man, and his son is… I don’t know.”</p>
<p>“His son is <i>rich</i>. You would have the farm and someone staring back at you over the breakfast table. Maybe someone to read you bedtime stories at night,” he scoffed as tears rolled down his cheeks. He angrily dashed them away.</p>
<p>Steve felt his insides twist. “You think this is fine? Are you really so disappointed in me for my choice?”</p>
<p>“No, damn it! I’m just so damned confused how this became a choice in the first place! First your uncle, then the bank, and then… <i>this.</i>” Billy pulled away from the wall and Steve’s hand as he reached for him. “Blast it all. Who’s pulling the strings and controlling our lives?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know.” Steve’s eyes stung and his voice softened. “I don’t, and I’m sorry, and… I don’t know what else to say.”</p>
<p>“When do you have to give it up? When do I have to find somewhere else to go?”</p>
<p>“Not for six months, at least! That gives you at least a little time to find somewhere else to work, or you can now if something comes up, I can get by-”</p>
<p>“Like hell,” Billy told him flatly. “No, Steve. I’m not running out on you to run this whole place by yourself. Don’t be <i>daft</i>. Always the martyr. Always the good little soldier, fighting the good fight.”</p>
<p>Steve smiled through the tears sparking in his eyes before he dashed them away. He planted his hands on his hips. “Am I really that terrible?”</p>
<p>“No, or I would have run far away a long time ago. You’re really that ridiculous, however. And stubborn. And hardheaded as Bertie over there,” he said, nodding to one of Steve’s favorite goats in the pen.</p>
<p>“Six months is all I have to offer.”</p>
<p>“Or what?”</p>
<p>“Or I lose the farm.” Steve sighed and tugged on the hair at his nape. “Here’s the thing. He’s giving us a chance.”</p>
<p>“A chance.”</p>
<p>“The thinnest possible sliver of one. We need to make the farm turn a neat profit by then. If it does, he will reconsider evicting me and sign over the deed.”</p>
<p>“You don’t have any relatives other than your uncle Mortimer who could help?” Billy asked sullenly.</p>
<p>“I have no one.”</p>
<p>Billy looked like he would leave the barn for a moment, but then he doubled back and caught Steve in a rough hug. Steve’s laugh was rusty, not quite a sob as he held onto him just as tightly.</p>
<p>“Stubborn jackass,” Billy told him. “You know I’m in this with you. Every step of the way, Rogers.”</p>
<p>“I always wonder why you weren’t finished with me a long time ago.”</p>
<p>“Find better things to wonder about. Like, if his son likes brunets,” he joked as he doffed his cap and scrubbed his hand through his short, soft, dark curls. Steve chuckled and shook his head.</p>
<p>“Find out for yourself. Write him a letter. See if he offers you a farm. That might be a greater miracle than getting this place to turn a profit with just the two of us.”</p>
<p>Billy gave him a look. “What if you skimped on my pay for a while, Steve, what if-”</p>
<p>“No. I won’t hear of it. I only give you a pittance as it is, anyway, and you need every penny, Billy. You need that money to help your brother through school.” Steve growled under his breath. “I should be paying you five times as much.”</p>
<p>“You should be living more comfortably than this, Steve. No one should have to work as hard as you do every minute of every day. You can’t keep that up forever.”</p>
<p>“No. And I’m only going to have to work harder than ever before to turn a profit, or we lose everything.”</p>
<p>Billy didn’t miss that he said “we.” That cemented his decision.</p>
<p>“Let me know what I can do. How I can even help.” He waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the henhouse and the pasture. “All of this? This is a lot.”</p>
<p>“All I can do is get out of bed and get to work. No one else will do it for me.” Steve went back to his milking. “I honestly wonder if my groom even knows anything about running a farm.”</p>
<p>“I wish I could give you a magical potion and just wave my hand and conjure you up all the help you need, or just the one perfect person who would come along and make any of this easier for you, Steve.”</p>
<p>“Well, until you can do that, Billy, go ahead and help me with the milking.”</p>
<p>They worked long and hard into the afternoon before they ate again, and by the time the sun set, Steve had cream rendered and set aside for his butter churn and bushels of apples loaded in his wagon for sale the next day. So many other tasks yawned ahead of him for the next day, but at least he didn’t have to do this completely alone.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Two days later, Bucky rode down the pebbly gravel road in the rickety wagon that he managed to purchase from Clint, who looked pleased as punch that Bucky paid him enough for it to buy an even nicer one, and he asked Bucky why he merely didn’t get a new one himself.</p>
<p>“This one will do just fine.”</p>
<p>“Are you sure? I mean… Bucky, I guess…” Clint paused. “You’re always so dapper. People expect certain things from a man of your station. Someone dressed like you doesn’t ride around in a wagon like this.”</p>
<p>“Honestly?” Bucky glanced around the street furtively and leaned in to Clint. “I don’t want to ride in a carriage with my father’s insignia. And this wagon is mine, now. Not his. It’s good to have something of my own.”</p>
<p>Clint beamed. “Of course. And you’re absolutely right. I remember how I felt when I opened my shop’s doors.”</p>
<p>“Proud, as you should be.”</p>
<p>“Ecstatic. Excited. Well. You can just imagine how it felt, Bucky.”</p>
<p>Bucky clapped Clint on the shoulder and gave it a fond squeeze. “No one deserves it as much as you do.”</p>
<p>“Would you like to try my new toffees?”</p>
<p>“Is the sky blue? Lead the way.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Two days prior, Bucky had an epiphany. And an argument. </p>
<p>Bucky went to George’s study and planted himself on the ottoman, staring at his father until he glanced back at him over the edge of his book.</p>
<p>“What can I do for you, son?”</p>
<p>“I was hoping you’d ask.” Bucky laced his fingers together and leaned forward expectantly. “I know your previous arrangement didn’t turn out the way that you’d hoped.”</p>
<p>“If you mean the wedding that was missing a groom, then no, it didn’t. Thank you for reminding me, James. Here’s my wound, if you would care to pour lemon juice into it.” George held out his wrist and raised his brows at his son. Bucky shook his head and suppressed a laugh.</p>
<p>“I really don’t care to at all. I just have a suggestion.”</p>
<p>“All right.” George closed the book and laid it on his lap. “I’m listening.”</p>
<p>“You wanted me to marry, so that I could run my own household and so that you wouldn’t have the ‘distraction’ of your bachelor son as a detriment to hosting Becca’s friends here during her Season.”</p>
<p>“That didn’t quite pan out.”</p>
<p>“No. However, I think you were right about one thing. It might be best if I move out of the house, even if I remain a bachelor.”</p>
<p>George straightened up in his seat and leaned forward. “James. Don’t be too hasty. This is something that can wait for a little while, now, while we decide how best to address your future, and your-”</p>
<p>“I am addressing my future, Father. I wish to write. I love literature and creating prose, and I want to be an author.”</p>
<p>George sat back and laughed, a sonorous sound in the silence of his study. He held up his novel and waved it at Bucky, who felt his cheeks flush. “An author? Preposterous! There are so many other things you can do? Economics? Market futures? Science? Accounting?”</p>
<p>“I wish to be a writer, Father?”</p>
<p>“Pretty words?” George scoffed. “You plan to sit down with your pen and write pretty words on the page?”</p>
<p>“That novel wasn’t cheap, Father.”</p>
<p>“I assure you, my dear son, the man who wrote this book only earned a pittance from it.”</p>
<p>“The man who wrote that book has written more than one, Father. And he will continue to receive earnings from that book every time someone buys a copy of it to enjoy while smoking their afternoon pipe. Authors don’t just write for the love of it, Father. They are businessmen. They thrive from exposure.”</p>
<p>“So do plants, son. And so do farmers. That’s why I purchase so many farms and that is exactly how I sell so much seed.”</p>
<p>Bucky sighed. He’d heard this lecture before.</p>
<p>“You don’t know the value of hard work.”</p>
<p>“Yet, you were willing to risk your investment on my lack of knowledge, Father. Honestly.” Bucky gave him a sardonic look, which George attempted to wave off. “You wanted me to manage the day to day operation and running of a farm and the household accounts?”</p>
<p>“Look at all of this, son.” George set down the book and rose from his chair and took Bucky by the arm. He tugged him over to the window to look out over the grounds, at the perfectly manicured hedges and beds of flowers, the circular gravel drive, the immaculate lawn used for the family’s spring and summertime croquet and badminton games. “Hard work and a cunning mind. And an ability to focus on the important things. That is what gave me all of this, in order for me to give it to you. Writing is a pastime. Feel free to jot things down in your leisure, but I expect you to come work for me, regardless of your marital status.”</p>
<p>“Work for you? In an office?” Bucky shook his head. “No. No, Father. You think I don’t know the value of hard work. Let’s put that to the test.”</p>
<p>George’s eyebrows rose. He planted his hands on his hips, but Bucky shrugged and smiled.</p>
<p>“I don’t want to work in your office, Father. I want to go out to your farms. I want to see how they run. I want to learn about them from the ground up. From seedling to stalk.”</p>
<p>George laughed. His soft chuckle gradually grew into a throaty guffaw. He shook his pointed finger at Bucky and gave him a knowing look. “You almost had me fooled.”</p>
<p>“I’m not joking. I want to do it. You can’t have me sitting sedately behind a desk, expecting to manage things when I don’t know what happens at the source of our income. Seems ridiculous, doesn’t it?”</p>
<p>“You would go out and work like a common field hand?”</p>
<p>“No. Like an honest farmer who lives off his harvest. And I would see what contributes to your success, Father. You are successful. And you said it is through hard work. But it isn’t just through <i>your</i> hard work.”</p>
<p>George huffed. Then, he shrugged.</p>
<p>“All right. Go ahead. Educate yourself, if, as you say, you are willing to learn about the family business from the bottom up, even though I offered you a place <i>at the top, with a comfortable status and income.</i>”</p>
<p>“As part and parcel of a marriage that the groom you chose for me refused outright,” Bucky reminded him.</p>
<p>George turned his back on him and grumbled his way over to the side table and the waiting bottle of brandy. He poured himself a crystal tumbler full, despite the earliness of the hour, and he tossed back half of it in one gulp. “I won’t judge you too harshly if you find it distasteful. There is no shame in admitting you cannot handle that sort of work, or that environment.”</p>
<p>“Let’s see how long I can last, then, Father.” Bucky paused. “Six months.”</p>
<p>George sputtered on his next gulp of brandy. “I beg your pardon?”</p>
<p>“Six months. Why not?”</p>
<p>George glanced at Bucky, in his carefully tailored clothing, manicured nails, pomaded hair and gleaming leather shoes. He wiped a drop of brandy from his lip with the handkerchief tucked into his pocket. “That’s an oddly specific timeframe.”</p>
<p>“Seems rather short to me.” Bucky’s voice held an edge.</p>
<p>Bucky’s meaning wasn’t lost on George. </p>
<p>“We will see how short it seems when you find yourself behind a plow. Or repairing a fence. Or harvesting from the field.”</p>
<p>“I can hardly wait.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And so, the terms were set.</p>
<p>George wrote them out into an agreement and had it notarized. Bucky signed it in his neat script. </p>
<p>
  <i>I, James Buchanan Barnes, swear that I will uphold the terms of the agreement and accept a monthly income from my father, George Barnes, in return for my services that will include direct labor and upkeep of his rural properties and interests. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>In deference to those terms, I will not conduct business or interact with the farm currently maintained and leased to one Steven Grant Rogers. I recognize that this is a conflict of interest and that the terms of this contract will be deemed null and void in the event that I fail to maintain this part of the agreement. I will forfeit my father George Barnes’ monthly stipend going forward, and will be dismissed from my position with Barnes Family Agricultural Associates and surrender the assets and status of said position, forthwith.</i>
</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It felt like signing his life away.</p>
<p>But Bucky felt the heady sense of freedom, now, as he rode down that gravel road, feeling the wagon rock beneath him, jarred by every jutting rock, root and cobble. He missed the smoothness of his carriage’s ride - his <i>father’s</i> carriage, he amended - but this time, Bucky was the one holding the reins.</p>
<p>He arrived at the Rogers farm promptly and found himself delighted by the riot of colors, from the flock of hens and roosters out pecking in the yard at scattered corn, to the spice garden filled with various herbs and lavender, to the orchards filled with maturing apples and blossoms that promised future lemons and oranges. </p>
<p>The house stood toward the east side of the property. Two-stories. Modest. The whitewash was in need of refreshing, but the shutters and roof were sound, as was the bulkhead leading down into the cellar. Flowering clematis vines and rose branches twined around a trellis in the garden. </p>
<p>Bucky pulled his wagon up to the fence and tethered his horses to the post. He gave himself a minute to drink it in. The farm was modest by his father’s account, but large to Bucky’s eyes, certainly too much for one man to maintain by himself.</p>
<p>“Hey! You! Hello, over there!” a young, sharp baritone voice called out. Bucky turned and waved to a man who looked no more than eighteen, with dark hair curling down around his ears, wearing a red scarf and dark jacket and cap. His coveralls were slightly stained and frayed, but his sturdy clothing still looked to be of good quality and made for hard work. </p>
<p>He walked slowly out of the barn, drinking something steaming from a tin cup. “Are you lost?” he called to Bucky.</p>
<p>“No, no, I’m not lost. I’m right where I planned to be. Are you Mr. Rogers? Steven Rogers?”</p>
<p>The young man was already walking out to meet him, and Bucky watched him roll his eyes and laugh to himself. “Oh, certainly not. You’d never mistake me for Steve if you knew him. And no one ever forgets that one, believe me. He’s one of a kind.”</p>
<p>Bucky heard the warmth and amusement in his tone, and he felt himself smiling in return. “Is he up and about?”</p>
<p>“He’s been ‘up and about’ since before dawn, man. Hey, I’m Billy. Short for William Kaplan, but no one’s ever called me anything but Billy.” He reached out with his free hand to shake Bucky’s. “Steve hired me on to help him with everything.”</p>
<p>“What do you usually help him with?”</p>
<p>“<i>Everything</i>, man, I just told you,” Billy told him impatiently, but his eyes crinkled at their corners. </p>
<p>“Where’s the rest of his help?”</p>
<p>“I’m it. That’s funny. ‘The rest.’ Oh, you must be new around here.”</p>
<p>Bucky reeled for a few moments. “Good heavens…”</p>
<p>“There’s a fence that needs mending out on the back field, or the cows will get out again,” Billy told him. “Perhaps we can cut this short?”</p>
<p>“Er… that’s… that’s fine. Sorry. I didn’t mean to delay you or keep you from your work. I just need to talk to Steven.”</p>
<p>“He prefers Steve.” Then Billy sized Bucky up. He took in his clothing, which was simple enough. Fresh coveralls and a crisp new work shirt. A well-lined jacket and wool driving cap. He glanced at Bucky’s hands and noticed right away the clean, perfect nails and cuticles, not so much as a hangnail or callous in sight. “What’s your business here?”</p>
<p>“He received a letter from my employer recently. Should have just come in the post.”</p>
<p>That made Billy step back. “Your employer? You mean, that Barnes fellow? The one that wanted him to marry that son of his?”</p>
<p>He said “that son of his” like George had suggested Steve marry a skunk.</p>
<p>“Er…”</p>
<p>How would Bucky even explain this?</p>
<p>“My fa- er, my employer sent him a letter spelling out the terms of his continued management of the property.”</p>
<p>“Continued management,” Billy scoffed. “Right. Sure. You mean his death sentence. He wants to snatch away everything Steven Rogers and his mother worked for all these years, is what that one plans to do! He’s only giving him six months to turn things around!”</p>
<p>“Did Steve ever receive the second letter?”</p>
<p>“What are you on about, man? Second letter?”</p>
<p>“From Mr. Barnes.” It felt so strange referring to his father with his title.</p>
<p>“I don’t know anything about a second letter, but the only letter Steve told me about from ‘your employer’ dashed all his hopes into the ground.’ Billy shook his head and gave Bucky a brittle laugh. “Not that it’s stopping him. Steve’s wearing himself into the ground as we speak.”</p>
<p>“But- but, I have some good news for him, and he should have received a second letter! Please, can you let him know that I’m here?”</p>
<p>Billy gave him an exasperated look and finished the contents of his cup, which smelled like strong coffee. “What was your name again?”</p>
<p>“Bucky,” he blurted out. “Bucky Bar- er, Barton. Bucky Barton.”</p>
<p>“Barton?” Billy scratched the side of his nose. “Any relation to Clint?”</p>
<p>“Clint?”</p>
<p>“Y’know. Owns the confectioner’s down the road. Tall, blondish, has big arms and freckles?”</p>
<p>It dawned on Bucky that he’d just borrowed his casual friend’s surname, and he decided to roll with it. “Sure. Distantly related. On our - on my father’s side.”</p>
<p>“Funny. Now that you mention it, I recognize that old wagon of his.” Billy nodded to Bucky’s wagon. </p>
<p>Bucky felt cold fear settle in his gut. There was so much potential for this to go wrong, but he merely smiled. “He sold it to me for a song.”</p>
<p>Billy made a thoughtful sound. </p>
<p>“So, where is Steve?”</p>
<p>As if on cue, there was a loud, shrill squealing that came from the back side of the barn.</p>
<p>“Ah, there he is. He’s got to give ol’ Bertha her medicine. She doesn’t sound like she plans on going easy with him.”</p>
<p>“Bertha?” Bucky wondered aloud. </p>
<p>Suddenly, the wildest, scruffiest, most untamed man Bucky had ever run across came hurrying out from around the corner of the barn from the pens in back. An enormous sow struggled in his arms, squealing and screaming up a ruckus. He saw the sow kicking and flailing, trying to fight her way loose, but the man - <i>Steve</i>, Bucky realized with a sharp little thrill of anticipation - kept a solid hold of her and sat down roughly on a stool near the pen and removed a short, hollow syringe from his pocket.</p>
<p>“Be a good girl, now, Bertha, take it easy, girl, don’t be picky now,” Bucky heard him urging. “Time for the medicine. C’mon, now, won’t you behave yourself?” He wrestled her down and pried open her mouth while she continued to squeal and kick up a fuss.</p>
<p>“She being contrary?” Billy called out, grinning as though he found it thoroughly entertaining.</p>
<p>“Of course not,” Steven bellowed back in a deep, sonorous voice that made Bucky’s stomach do a little flip. He finally managed to squirt the contents of the syringe into her mouth and massaged her throat to make her swallow it down. Bertha, seeing the perfect opportunity to take umbrage, finally broke free of his grasp and bolted for the pen, her immense mass of fat jiggling the whole way.</p>
<p>“Always a pleasure, Bertha! We must do that again!” Steve called after her, laughing as he slapped his grimy hands against his knees to clean them off. He tucked the empty syringe back into his pocket and finally turned to Billy and his unannounced visitor.</p>
<p>“Good morning,” Steve called out, waving. “I’m afraid you caught me when I was indisposed?” His tone was joking but unapologetic. He rose from the stool and attempted to come and greet Bucky, until he heard more squealing from the pen and remembered he needed to lock it. “Blast,” he muttered. “Hold on!” he called back to Bucky as he ran back in.</p>
<p>“That.. that was a pig in his arms.” Bucky’s tone was incredulous.</p>
<p>“Too big for a turkey,” Billy agreed. “We’ve got some of those, too, but it’s the sheer devil trying to keep them off the roof.”</p>
<p>Bucky wondered what on earth he’d managed to stumble into, when he heard the sow squealing loudly and Steve’s less than dignified curses and pleas.</p>
<p>The afternoon would prove interesting, to say the very <i>least.</i></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Bucky Gets His Hands Dirty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“I get the impression you’re a bit new at this.”</p>
<p>“What gave you that idea?”</p>
<p>Bertha mooed at Bucky, a wounded, disgruntled sound, right before her hoof flew up and clouted him in the ear. He roared in pain and fled the path of her next kick, cursing. The milk pan flew aside, landing in the hay.</p>
<p>“Because you’re milking her on the wrong side?”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay. Just go with it. I know this is a trash fire, but I’m having fun.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve plunked himself down at the modest kitchen table and stared up at Bucky where he lingered in the doorway.</p>
<p>“So, where did you say you last worked again?”</p>
<p>“Uh. I didn’t. But… I work for Mr. Barnes.”</p>
<p>Steve’s sandy brows drew together, and he hummed in comprehension. “Make yourself at home,” he offered, nodding for Bucky to take the chair across from him. Billy smirked from the other end of the room while he cut slices from a loaf of coarse bread. Something about the young man in what looked like new, unstained work clothes gave him pause, despite Bucky’s earnest nature and easy smile.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Steve. Er, it is fine to call you Steve, correct?”</p>
<p>“Just don’t call me late for church.” Steve’s tone was bland, but Bucky noticed a slight twinkle in his eye. He hoped to see more of it.</p>
<p>Bucky decided that he needed to see more of Steven Rogers in every aspect, because the man was an absolute <i>vision</i> out of his dreams. Golden, rough-hewn good looks. Luminous blue eyes that held intelligence and humor within their depths, as well as an enticing hint of green. Large, work-roughened hands. Sandy hair generously dusted his muscular forearms, revealed by his rolled-up sleeves. Bucky’s tailor would swoon over the man’s measurements. Steve’s shoulders were enviably broad, and his waist was narrow and firm. He radiated strength, power, and robust good health.</p>
<p>Bucky wondered what Steve had looked like in his wedding finery. The thought pricked at him, leaving him slightly sore.</p>
<p>“Are you? Usually?”</p>
<p>“I rarely attend,” Steve admitted. “The vicar takes exception to me working on the Sabbath, but there is no help for it. Just because the church doors are open, that doesn’t mean I haven’t a farm to tend to.” He paused a moment. “For now, at any rate.”</p>
<p>“You’ve tended it surprisingly well, from what I’ve seen so far.”</p>
<p>“And you’re an expert on that sort of thing?” Steve’s eyes raked over Bucky with immediate skepticism, not unlike Billy’s earlier perusal of him. He felt his cheeks flush as he took in Bucky’s careful grooming, feeling self-conscious about his own dirty state and disheveled hair that was pressed into odd shapes by his cap.</p>
<p>“Er…” Bucky made a vague gesture. “I was hoping you could show me around a bit more, when you have time.”</p>
<p>“When I have time. Certainly. Between picking the apples, repairing the fence, slopping the pigs, mucking out the horse stall, plowing the east field-</p>
<p>Steve continued to list his day’s chores, and Bucky realized it was <i>endless</i>. </p>
<p>“...milking the cows, thinning the seedlings in the spice garden, churning the butter, patching the roof, because we’ve had a leak, harvesting the grain, collecting the eggs to take to market tomorrow…</p>
<p>“That’s all?” Bucky joked.</p>
<p>Steve’s brows drew together, and Bucky held up his hands. </p>
<p>“Sorry. It’s just… I mean, there’s only two of you. You’ve just told me a load of work that would take at least five men to finish in one day.”</p>
<p>“And?” Steve’s tone was bland but long-suffering. “At the moment, you’re interrupting me from <i>all</i> of it.”</p>
<p>“That’s really not what I meant to-”</p>
<p>“Come on, Billy,” Steve muttered as he rose from his seat. “Perhaps you’ll see yourself out,” he tossed over his shoulder, and Bucky realized he was talking to <i>him</i>.</p>
<p>“Wait! Steve!” He pushed away from the table and found himself <i>chasing</i> the man out of the house as he crossed the yard in long strides. They were nearly of a height, and Bucky’s own long legs allowed him to keep up with him, but Bucky felt a bit foolish. This wasn’t how he wanted this first meeting to go at all.</p>
<p>“I still need to talk to you,” he pleaded. “About the letter. About my fa- er, my employer’s communication with you.”</p>
<p>“I’m well aware of his intentions. He means to claim the farm if I don’t turn it around and make an ample profit in six months. I remember something like my future eviction from my family home clearly, and with considerable gravity, Mr…” Steve speaking for a moment while he entered the barn.</p>
<p>“Barton,” Bucky lied again, slowly warming to the alias. </p>
<p>Steve made a thoughtful noise.</p>
<p>“Er. Clint’s cousin?” he said hopefully.</p>
<p>“He never said he had one,” Steve mused as he filled a feed bag with oats and greeted one of his horses with fond clicking sounds before offering it breakfast. Steve looped the straps of the feedbag around the back of its head and stroked the creature’s coarse, gleaming mane briefly.</p>
<p>“On his father’s side,” he offered, unsure of whether that was what he’d told Billy.</p>
<p>“Clint lost his father before I lost mine,” Steve told him. “Your uncle, then?”</p>
<p>“Old uncle Paul-”</p>
<p>“Harold,” Steve corrected him.</p>
<p>“Paul was his middle name,” Bucky recovered, even though he knew no such thing.</p>
<p>Steve huffed. Bucky felt himself flushing, and he raked his fingers through the hair at his nape.</p>
<p>Steve’s eyes tracked the gesture. Whoever this stranger was, he was daft. Even seemed a bit of an idjit, if Steve was being honest. <i>Look at him.</i> Short, clean nails. No callouses or blisters on his hands. His skin was fair and untanned, a man of leisurely pursuits. Perhaps a scholar. His hair was a rich, sable brown with caramel blond glints when he stood in the sunlight, and when he smiled, his eyes - a striking shade of slate blue - crinkled at the corners. He was fit and built on elegant lines. Bucky - such a strange name, really - looked like he stepped out of an advertisement for hair pomade or cufflinks. Damned handsome, with sharp bone structure and a mouth that seemed to love to smile. He even had a little cleft in his firm chin. The nerve of him.</p>
<p>“There was a second letter, Steve,” Bucky told him, wanting to press on with his point before Steve dismissed him again.</p>
<p>“A second letter?”</p>
<p>“Yes. From my fa- er, Mr. Barnes.’</p>
<p>“You seem to be trying to call him something else?” Steve wondered aloud.</p>
<p>“No. No. I’m not.”</p>
<p>“You have twice so far-”</p>
<p>“Did you get it in the post?”</p>
<p>“No. Just the one.”</p>
<p>“Hey! STEVEN!” Billy called out as the mail wagon pulled up to the edge of the drive. He took the handful of letters from him and held up one that immediately looked familiar to Bucky with its green wax seal. “This just came for you!”</p>
<p>He jogged down the drive, waving it in the air. “Looks like it’s from that Barnes fellow.”</p>
<p>“Wish he would simply let me work in peace.” Steve took it from him and impatiently cracked the seal and withdrew the folded letter. His eyes scanned it quickly at first, then slowly. Bucky watched his face take a journey, from annoyance at first, then confusion, then suddenly… annoyance, again.</p>
<p>“What…” Steve stared up at Bucky. “What’s this? This says… that you are his employee and manager? That you will be overseeing operations of the farm and reporting back to Mr. Barnes?”</p>
<p>“To some degree. I defer to your knowledge of the day to day workings of the farm, but. Er.” Bucky hadn’t thought quite this far, yet. The writer in him searched for any feasible reason for him to arrive every day to Steve’s farm.</p>
<p>“Defer… to my knowledge?” Steve’s expression kept flickering from one mood to the next as he reacted to Bucky’s words. “But you’re going to oversee things? And report back to that…” He exhaled roughly through his nose, lips tight, and Steve turned away from Bucky, throwing up his hands in a gesture that kicked Bucky in the gut. It was on the tip of his tongue to jump immediately to his father’s defense, before he realized that he couldn’t. Not if he wanted to keep up his ruse. Then Steve laughed. It was a harsh, ragged sound, not the least bit infectious, and Bucky recoiled. “So. Instead of giving me a husband I didn’t ask for, he will give me a headache.”</p>
<p>“No. A chance,” Bucky corrected him. “And I truly wish you would come to see it that way.”</p>
<p>“You’re going to ‘manage’ my farm?”</p>
<p>“Not… quite. I’m here to help. With expenses. Books. With assessing your farm’s needs. This isn’t the only farm that m- Mr. Barnes owns. You’re well aware of that, I’m sure?”</p>
<p>“I was aware,” Steve confirmed, adding sourly, “Must be nice.”</p>
<p>“Most of those farms are turning a tidy profit,” Bucky pointed out.</p>
<p>“Due to your management?”</p>
<p>“Due to his. But he has asked me to come and work for him. I recently finished school-”</p>
<p>“School?” Steve huffed.</p>
<p>“Pembroke.”</p>
<p>“Pembroke? As in, the college?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“So. You’re fancy.”</p>
<p>Bucky deflated slightly.</p>
<p>“You are,” Steve pointed out. “You plan to come and manage my farm, and you look like a man who’s never had to work on one a day in his life.”</p>
<p>“I’m a quick study.” Bucky didn’t mention that he’d certainly visited his father’s properties before and watched the local farmers go about their chores. He’d even been allowed to milk a goat, once. Granted, he’d been ten at the time. And the goat was an agreeable creature, unlike Steve’s sow. </p>
<p>Steve didn’t have to know that.</p>
<p>“Look, Bucky… I’m a busy man. I don’t have time for nonsense, or to hold your hand, or to take you through my usual day, because my usual day lasts about eighteen hours, and I’m working from the moment I wake up until I collapse into bed at night.” Steve tugged on his hair helplessly. “This just seems like it won’t work. And I have six months of this. All I ask is that you don’t get in my way, all right? Don’t pass judgment on how I do things, or slow me down, or ask me too many damned questions!”</p>
<p>“I can’t promise that I won’t ask questions,” Bucky argued, and he found himself walking faster to catch up as Steve exited the barn in long, angry strides. “When do you start your day?”</p>
<p>“Dawn. I’m up with the roosters.”</p>
<p>“Then, I will come here at dawn. Or, shortly after, at any rate,” Bucky informed him. Steve gave him a jaundiced look. “All right, then. Dawn. Dawn, on the spot.”</p>
<p>“Honestly? You? Here? On my farm, at daybreak? Oh, this, I can’t wait to see!” Humor lit his blue eyes, and they crinkled pleasantly for a moment, and Bucky almost forgot that Steven Rogers had given every impression of disliking him only moments before. “You’ll end up flat on your arse by noon.”</p>
<p>Oh, never mind, there it was, after all. Bucky shook his head.</p>
<p>“I can’t wait, either.” Bucky held out his hand, and Steve stared down at it, nonplussed. He took it firmly and shook it, and Bucky refused to take offense - much - at the reluctance in the gesture. Steve’s eyes flitted down to their linked hands. His grip was so, so warm, and Bucky felt himself tingle. Steve’s thumb stroked the back of Bucky’s hand, a fleeting caress that made Bucky wonder if he was imagining it. Then those eyes rose to meet his, and Steve muttered, “So damned soft.” He tsked. “Not for long.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bucky spent most of the afternoon following both men around, growing more awed by the minute how much work they accomplished from when he first arrived. Harvesting. Plowing. Threshing. Planting. Feeding. Small repairs. Milking. Churning. Reconciling the books. Bucky watched the two of them sort through a box of receipts and thumb through a smudged, slightly disorganized ledger.</p>
<p>“How can you keep track of what you’ve spent for the month with it like this?” Bucky demanded.</p>
<p>“We manage,” Steve grumbled as he wrote down the amount of money he made the day before when he went to market and sold some cheese, eggs, and herbs. </p>
<p>“Might be able to manage the trip to the blacksmith and re-shoe the horses,” Billy said.</p>
<p>“Not yet. We need a new blade for the plow.”</p>
<p>“Need a new plow, more like,” Billy countered.</p>
<p>“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.”</p>
<p>“Put a beggar up on a horse, and he might think he’s George Barnes for a day, eh, Stevie?” Billy joked. Bucky turned away, fuming. Steve chuckled, until he noticed the little vein standing out in Bucky’s jaw.</p>
<p>“Don’t like hearing us talk like that about your employer, eh?”</p>
<p>“I really don’t.” Bucky’s tone was soft, but firm.</p>
<p>Billy muttered something unpleasant under his breath and pushed away from the table. “Who wants a sandwich?” he offered.</p>
<p>“I’ll take one. Make three,” Steve said, nodding to Bucky. As if on cue, Bucky’s stomach growled, and he realized that both men had worked through tea time. </p>
<p>“You don’t have to-”</p>
<p>“C’mon, man. Sit and eat. You can tell me all about how you’re planning to manage me and my farm when I don’t have to listen to either of our stomachs. Just don’t ruin my digestion.” </p>
<p>Supper was some cold, leftover mutton and sandwiches spread thickly with butter and jam. Steve sliced the meat and gestured to Bucky to serve himself some, which Bucky automatically cut into dignified bites as he ate; Steve and Billy didn’t stand on ceremony and picked up thick slices and tore at them with their teeth. Bucky’s mother would have been absolutely appalled. Steve’s table manners, or rather, the lack of them, fascinated him. Steve crammed the last wedge of his sandwich into his mouth, washed it down with half his glass of milk, and belched cavernously. Bucky smothered his own burp in his handkerchief in lieu of a napkin. Billy watched him and rolled his eyes.</p>
<p>“Fancy,” he muttered.</p>
<p><i> didn’t learn my table manners from the livestock.</i> Bucky drank from his glass and lifted his pinkie from the edge as he swallowed.</p>
<p>Steve’s eyes dilated as he watched the liquid work itself down Bucky’s throat. Bucky delicately wiped the film of milk from his upper lip. “Er. You missed a, um…” He motioned to the corner of his own mouth, and the tip of Bucky’s tongue darted out to lap at the corresponding spot, catching a speck of strawberry jam. </p>
<p>“Got away from me, didn’t it?”</p>
<p>There was something about watching the man eat. Steve shook off the trance that had fallen over him from watching Bucky’s mouth, and he gathered up his dishes, taking them to the wash tub. </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bucky retired early once he arrived at his tiny rented room that sat above the town’s barber shop. He lay in bed scribbling down some notes in his manuscript, inspired by the sights and sounds of the farm. He wrote until his eyes burned from exhaustion and finally set down the manuscript and extinguished the candle.</p>
<p>They hadn’t had the most auspicious beginning, but Bucky couldn’t wait to see Steven Rogers again.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Bucky rose at dawn, feeling like he’d barely slept from excitement. The stars were fading from the cobalt blue sky, and the clouds were shifting, just beginning to change color. Bucky washed and dressed in some of the work clothes he’d recently purchased, hoping Billy didn’t deem him too “fancy” and then fail to take his efforts seriously.</p>
<p>Bucky wished heartily for a cup of black tea or coffee, still yawning as he set out down the road in his wagon. The morning air was chilly and bracing, and his horses were already growing familiar with the way to the Rogers’ farm. It seemed to take him a shorter time to arrive, despite the earliness of the hour. Bucky wasn’t surprised to see a lantern lit in Steve’s upstairs window already as he came up the drive. Billy was already out in the front yard, sitting out on the stoop, and he looked up in surprise as Bucky stopped his wagon and hitched his horses.</p>
<p>“Well, look who’s here, fresh as a daisy,” he teased, but there was no malice in it. Bucky touched the brim of his cap in greeting, nodding. “Stevie! STEVE! Look who’s here!” he called up toward the window. Bucky looked up and saw Steve come to the window, still buttoning his shirt. His dark blond hair was still tousled, but he looked alert and rested already. He opened the window and called down to them.</p>
<p>“Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, aren’t you?”</p>
<p>“And full of questions. <i>So</i> many questions.” Bucky’s smile was mischievous. Steve just shook his head, ducked back inside, and slammed the window shut.</p>
<p>Steve grumbled to himself as he went through the motions of getting ready, cramming his feet into heavy woolen socks and work boots, washing his face and foregoing his shave because he had no one to impress, <i>especially</i> not that dimpled dandy outside. Well. Time to show him what life on the farm was about.</p>
<p>Steve tramped downstairs and found the two men in his kitchen, filling a kettle. “Bucky said he could use some warming up. I’m making tea.”</p>
<p>“You mean waking up, right?” Steve countered. Bucky’s eyes were drooping slightly, but he waved Steve off.</p>
<p>“I’m fine. Never better.”</p>
<p>Steve grunted at him as he went outside to the henhouse. He returned with some eggs gathered up in the hem of his untucked shirt, and Bucky realized again that he was hungry. Steve gathered up some butter and took down a heavy iron skillet where it hung from a hook.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He lit the stove and melted a generous pat of butter and swirled it around to coat the skillet. Once he cracked the first of the eggs, the aroma filled the kitchen, making their mouths water.</p>
<p>“Go ahead and slice the bread,” Steve told Bucky, who experienced a moment of confusion.</p>
<p>“The… bread. You want me to…?”</p>
<p>“Slice it. Cut some of it for us to eat with the eggs, man!”</p>
<p>“All right.” Bucky took the knife that Billy fetched for him and eyed the slightly lump loaf of bread. With less finesse than he would have liked, Bucky sawed three uneven slices of bread from the loaf, showering the plate and table with crumbs in the process. Billy raised his eyebrows at his efforts.</p>
<p>“My five-year-old niece is handier with a knife,” he teased as he took the bread and moved them to separate plates, awaiting portions of fried eggs. Billy toasted the bread in a separate griddle and then spread them with butter and jam.</p>
<p>“The jam was good, yesterday,” Bucky mentioned, ignoring the slight. “Where did it come from?”</p>
<p>“From the dainty little jam fairies,” Billy said.</p>
<p>Steve bit back a laugh as he turned the eggs gently to protect the yolks. “From the Rasputin farm. We trade with them for goods every now and again. It is good, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“Better than the kind I have at home.”</p>
<p>“Your ma isn’t much a cook?” Billy asked.</p>
<p>“Er…” Bucky searched for an explanation. “Not. Much.”</p>
<p>“Your father married her for her looks, then?”</p>
<p>“Billy, quit it! Stop taking strips out of him and pour the tea.”</p>
<p>“All this one’s good at is looking pretty. Don’t you wonder why?”</p>
<p>Bucky flushed all the way up to his ears. Then, he decided to take a different tack. “Do you really think I’m pretty? I wore this shirt just for you, darling. Brings out my eyes, don’t you think?”</p>
<p>Steve guffawed. “This one’s weak for blue eyes, all right. He’s had his eyes on this one lad at the market, Teddy, even though he won’t admit it.”</p>
<p>“Hush yourself!” Billy snapped, giving Steve a mulish look. He grabbed tea and threw it into the press in impatient motions, and this time, Bucky saw color rising up into Billy’s cheeks. Well, then.</p>
<p>“Big and blond as an Adonis,” Steve teased, as though no one could accuse him of the same. “Gives our Billy the biggest smile every time he goes to his cart to trade for fruit.”</p>
<p>“Shut up, Steve!”</p>
<p>Bucky began to enjoy himself. “Impress him with how well you slice a loaf of bread, Billy. That should get his attention.”</p>
<p>Billy brandished the knife at Bucky and gave him a look. He muttered something unflattering under his breath as he continued to make the tea. Steve went back to the eggs and plated their breakfast. They made short work of it, washing it down with tea and milk. Bucky felt a boost of energy from the food and just from listening to the two men bickering back and forth, hearing the clatter of dishes as Steve finished the washing up, and then they extinguished the lantern in the kitchen before tramping outside.</p>
<p>Billy let the hens out to walk and peck and shoved a large, heavy feedback of grain at Bucky. “Go ahead and scatter some of this around. Make yourself useful, Fancy Trousers.”</p>
<p>Bucky shrugged and began to scatter the grain for the fowl as they wandered about and clucked up a ruckus. Some of them had gorgeous plumage; Bucky smiled at the tiny chicks and their cheeping sounds, still fuzzy with yellow down. He watched the birds, rapt with their variety and antics. He stumbled backwards over something large that squawked up at him in umbrage.</p>
<p>“Oh, good Lord!” he cried at the sight of the turkey. The fowl tipped its head to the side, making its wattle tilt. He leaned forward and pecked at Bucky, demanding some of the grain. Bucky laughed and held out a handful, but the turkey wasn’t impressed. It gobbled up at him and lunged for Bucky’s sleeve, making him quickly drop the grain and stumble backwards.</p>
<p>“Don’t take any sass from that one,” Billy warned. “He won’t respect you if you don’t show him who’s boss!”</p>
<p>Steve wanted to point out that same rule applied to every creature on the farm, but he realized that Bucky had to know this if he was expecting to help manage things on the farm? Steve didn’t want to indulge in false hope. Perhaps Bucky Barton was simply a pretty face and George Barnes’ spy who would carry tales back to him about Steve’s lack of profits in his investment.</p>
<p>Fair enough, then. Let Bucky learn what it took to keep the farm running when there was only one man paying the bills and two doing the work. Bucky finished his education at the university, but he would continue it in the barn and at the market and out in the field. </p>
<p>And it wasn’t up to Steve to make his introduction into his world gentle. Or even remotely appealing.</p>
<p>That didn’t stop him from occasionally peeking at Bucky when he was watching the wee chicks, charmed by how sweet they were. His rapt expression was too appealing. Distracting. Steve went back to feeding the horses and pigs. Billy gathered the rest of the eggs and then went out into the orchard to check for ripe fruit.</p>
<p>The rest of the morning, Bucky followed Steve for a bit, volunteering to help whenever a task looked like something he was capable of. Steve eventually sent him off to pick fruit, deciding Bucky could manage it. Bucky eventually got his footing on the old, slightly wobbly ladder and picked the apples. The morning air went from brisk to pleasantly cool, gradually shifting to balmy as they worked on the day’s chores. Life on the farm was busy, but relatively peaceful. Bucky noticed the difference in the sounds. There were no street noises or foot traffic across the cobblestones, no buskers or vendors calling out to the public to buy their wares. Bucky felt himself begin to sweat and gradually removed his jacket and was about to remove his cap until Billy stopped him.</p>
<p>“Don’t go getting too bare. Keep that on. You don’t want the midday sun beating down on you, or you’ll be sorry.”</p>
<p>“It’s not even that bright out today,” Bucky argued.</p>
<p>“You’ll feel it later,” Steve agreed. “You don’t get out and get much sun, I’m thinking.” Bucky’s skin was fair, like peaches and cream, but his face was flushed from the heat. Steve and Billy were noticeably tanned from regular time in the sun. “Now that I’m thinking of it, have a drink.” Steve led Bucky to the water pump and dipped him a tin cupful of water from the bucket. Bucky drank it gratefully, in deep swallows that once again caught Steve’s attention. Bucky wiped a drop of liquid from his plump, rosy mouth with the edge of his finger and handed the cup back to Steve, who also dipped himself a cup while Billy fetched his own, taking a break from harvesting the corn. Steve felt heat rise up his neck when Bucky handed him back the cup, making their fingers graze together for a moment.</p>
<p>“Come on into the barn. The cows won’t milk themselves.”</p>
<p>Bucky smirked. “There aren’t any milk fairies to do it?”</p>
<p>“Wouldn’t that just be the bee’s knees,’ Billy scoffed as he shoved a short stool at Bucky and directed him to take the tin pail hanging from the peg in the corner. Steve took another one that sat in the corner and sidled up to a large, dark brown cow with soft eyes that lowed at him in greeting.</p>
<p>“Afternoon, Bertie,” Steve murmured. “There’s my sweet girl. Sorry to keep you waiting so long.”</p>
<p>“Bertie?” Bucky asked.</p>
<p>“Short for Her Majesty Queen Beatrice the Merciful and Milkful,” Billy corrected him.</p>
<p>“Good Lord…”</p>
<p>“Don’t take her name in vain, either. She has strong opinions about that.”</p>
<p>Bucky tipped his hat to her. “Majesty,” he offered, giving her a little bow.</p>
<p>“Relax. She’s just a cow,” Billy muttered. “Go on. Situate yourself and milk her.”</p>
<p>Bucky noticed Steve had already gone into the neighboring stall to milk the nearly identical cow; this one had a charming white patch between her eyes. Bertie swished her tail at Bucky as he carefully petted her side. He watched Steve for a minute to see his technique.</p>
<p>It was something, watching Steve with those large, rough-looking hands expertly grasping the cow’s udders at the top and pulling down, letting his remaining fingers curl around them in rhythmic squeezes. He expressed the milk efficiently, humming gently as he worked and occasionally holding a one-sided conversation with the cow.</p>
<p>“It’s almost time for your afternoon stroll, sweetheart, I promise. That’s a good girl. Give me lots of nice cream because it’s churning day.”</p>
<p>“Know what Teddy told me the other day?” Billy leaned on the edge of the stall, grinning. “He said that Mikhail plays his violin for their cows and sings to ‘em. He says it makes the milk sweeter.”</p>
<p>“Rubbish!” Steve argued back, but humor danced in his eyes.</p>
<p>“It’s true!”</p>
<p>“That it works?”</p>
<p>“No, that he plays for them. How would I know if it works?”</p>
<p>“Go taste the milk and find out,” Bucky reasoned. Billy gave Bucky a rude look and waved him off.</p>
<p>“Want to quit lollygagging and do some actual work?”</p>
<p>Bucky sighed and brought the stool into the stall and arranged the pail in front of him. He began to talk to Bertie in soothing - he hoped - tones, petting her side. She kept swishing her tail and mooed ominously.</p>
<p>“Good girl,” he encouraged. “I can’t play you a song, but I hope we will get along, miss.” Bucky stroked her udder gently, feeling it sag with milk. She shifted her weight from one hoof to the other, waiting for him to get on with it. He listened to the constant hiss of milk flowing into Steve’s pail in the adjacent stall and hoped he managed the task just as capably.</p>
<p>Bucky tested the udder, gripping it carefully. He gave it a tug. Nothing. He tried again, and Bertie mooed again, sounding annoyed with Bucky already.</p>
<p>“Are you sure you know what you’re doing, man?”</p>
<p>“I can manage.”</p>
<p>“Sure, you can.” Billy bit his lip and moved on.</p>
<p>“Make sure you squeeze from the top first, with your first finger and thumb. Make a ring around it, then squeeze down with the rest of your fingers,” Steve told him from the other stall when he didn’t hear any milk happening.</p>
<p>“Oh. Of course. That sounds simple enough.” Bucky tried again and managed to get one needle-thin squirt of milk into the pail. He almost crowed in triumph.</p>
<p> “I get the impression you’re a bit new at this.”</p>
<p>“What gave you that idea?”</p>
<p>Bertha mooed at Bucky, a wounded, disgruntled sound, right before her hoof flew up and clouted him in the ear. He roared in pain and fled the path of her next kick, cursing. The milk pan flew aside, landing in the hay.</p>
<p>“Because you’re milking her on the wrong side?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. On the Wrong Side</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bucky needs some assistance maintaining his secret identity. He has a few too many close calls for comfort.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>“Bucky Barton? Never heard of him.”</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bucky went with Billy two weeks later to the fresh air market while Steve went to the store to buy chicken feed and some other supplies. Steve decided Bucky would have a better opportunity to learn about how they made their profits if he watched Billy sell their goods firsthand.</p>
<p>The smells of the market were overwhelming, overloading Bucky’s senses. The cloying sweetness of various fruits warred with the odor of fresh-caught fish, including bass, trout, and cod; there were pungent cheeses and various fresh greens, roasted nuts, spices and bundles of fresh herbs. Buskers performed for pennies in the center of it all; an old man wearing a heavily patched coat and fraying cap played a mandolin skillfully while his daughter sang along. Vendors promised the best quality for their goods, often competing when they offered the same varieties.</p>
<p>“Fresh, green snap peas, sweet and delicious!”</p>
<p>“Farm fresh eggs, perfect for your breakfast table! You, there, come and take a look at these eggs, laid by the finest Rhode Island red hens!”</p>
<p>“We’re selling eggs, too,” Bucky mentioned, dismayed.</p>
<p>“So?” Billy scoffed. “We’re supposed to just take ours home, then, because they got here first? Stop with that bollocks. We’re going to sell all we came with, and folks will still ask for more.”</p>
<p>Chastened, Bucky helped Billy set up the crudely painted signs after they unloaded their wagon. The lettering was neat enough, but they were made of remnants of planks that had been nailed together; they were hardly professional. Bucky noticed some of the wagons were covered and had signs painted directly on the side, with the name of the farm or business. He actually noticed one of his father’s other associates, Samuel Guthrie, whistling as he set up an elaborate stand of goods with his younger, red-haired brother, Joshua. Their displays were orderly and attractive. They offered gorgeous bundles of wildflowers and perennials, some arranged into elaborate bouquets soaking in glass jars. They also sold herbs tied off attractively in elegant sachets bound with colored ribbon, as well as various fruits and soaps.</p>
<p>“Those are lovely goods,” Bucky murmured. “Becca would love all of it.”</p>
<p>“Becca? Who’s that?”</p>
<p>“Oh, my younger sister,” Bucky enthused. “Father spoils her so much, she empties her purse every time we-” Bucky stopped himself.</p>
<p>“Why’m I not surprised?” Billy tsked. “Can’t imagine she’d be spoiled, after meeting <i>you</i>.” Then he paused in unloading the bushels of fruit. “Wait. Clint never mentioned a girl cousin.”</p>
<p>“She’s always picked on him. She’s a dreadful brat, and Clint never has a harsh word for anyone, has he?” Bucky offered quickly.</p>
<p>To his relief, Billy nodded, chuckling. “He really doesn’t. He has his moments, though, where he’s a bit of an eejit, too. I once dared him to drink a whole bottle of Mam’s elderberry wine in one go. He fell over on his arse, and I lost five quid!”</p>
<p>Bucky bit his lip, then cleared his throat.</p>
<p>“He’s worse than Steve, and that’s saying something,” Billy mused. “Clint won’t back down from a bet. Stevie won’t back down from a <i>fight</i>.”</p>
<p>Bucky made up his mind to ask Clint one day about the wine bet… whenever he got around to telling the candy store owner that he’d gained himself two new cousins.</p>
<p>Bucky kept himself scarce ever since he began managing the Rogers farm, if he could even call it that. He was a slow study, gradually learning the flow of their daily routine and throwing himself into the chores and harvest. Bertie the cow and Bucky came to a truce of sorts, and she still eyed him warily every time he entered her stall to milk her, but Bucky always made a point of keeping his hands nice and warm and sitting on the proper side. If his end result was a less brimful pail of milk than Steve’s, well; at least Steve wasn’t particularly vocal about it. More often than not, he merely grunted at Bucky’s efforts before going out to repair the fence or wrestle with the pigs. </p>
<p>Bucky gradually edged himself into Steve’s terse review of his expenses, keeping company with him at the kitchen table as he pored over the ledger. Bucky double-checked Steve’s columns and moved some of the numbers where they belonged.</p>
<p>“You paid more for feed this week than you did the last time you bought it.”</p>
<p>“For my hens, yes,” Steve explained. “Because we have more of them. Haven’t you noticed more of them in the henhouse?”</p>
<p>His voice was irritated, so Bucky merely smiled and nodded. “I did. I’m not arguing the amount of grain. I’m bringing up the <i>cost</i>.”</p>
<p>“I buy it from Johann,” Steve told him. “I always have.”</p>
<p>“Johann Schmidt?” Bucky asked. “He may be gouging you, Steve.”</p>
<p>“He’s always offered a fair price for the quality of the feed.”</p>
<p>“Has he? It may be worth it to ask around and see if what he charges you is the same price that he’s charging everyone else, or even if anyone is offering the same amount for less. Maybe it’s comfortable to keep buying it from him because you always have, but that doesn’t mean-”</p>
<p>“Now you’re an expert on grain prices?” Steve scoffed, but Bucky didn’t detect any rancor in him. <i>Yet.</i></p>
<p>“I seem to recall that a certain farm owner has about another five and a half months to make a profit.” Bucky added a lilt to the last word. “Spending less may help that while you’re figuring out how to sell and produce <i>more</i>.”</p>
<p>“Don’t explain how to run my farm like I’m a child!” Steve snapped as he shoved away from the table and stomped out the back door, cramming his cap onto his head as he went. Bucky growled under his breath.</p>
<p>“Blast. Stubborn bastard.”</p>
<p>He heard Billy’s low chuckle from the hallway as he entered. “Had an epiphany about that, did you? Step in the long line wrapped around the block of people who find our Stevie ‘stubborn.’ You’re not alone in that, Bucky.”</p>
<p>“You haven’t tried to make him see reason?”</p>
<p>“I’ve been standing in that line for longer than you can imagine, Pretty Boy.”</p>
<p>“Can we <i>not</i> call me Pretty Boy?”</p>
<p>“Stop showing up to the farm smelling of pomade and dressed like you’ve never had to work a day in your life, and I might. Or, you could actually spend less time heckling Steve and do something <i>useful</i>.” Billy smiled, but as usual, it didn’t reach his eyes, unless he was laughing at Bucky’s expense. Like that time he turned on his way out of the barn and stepped into the slop trough, soaking the leg of his trousers halfway up his calf. Or when he jumped back with a somewhat unmanly cry from the compost barrel when Steve told him to dump in some potato peelings and other vegetable scraps, and Bucky saw the worms and maggots wriggling happily amongst the rotting mass.</p>
<p>Bucky sighed in exasperation and decided to wash the dishes, a chore he was happy to take off of Steve and Billy’s hands. Pietro and Wanda’s mother, Marya, was his family’s cook and housekeeper before Pietro succeeded her, and she often let Bucky and Becca occupy the kitchen and help with the dishes to keep them entertained while Winifred took her constitutional walk or afternoon nap. Despite Billy’s remarks about how “unhandy” Bucky supposedly was with a knife, Bucky also helped with cooking their simple meals after a while. He occasionally overcooked the eggs, and he might have underboiled the potatoes, once, but he was improving. By the time the three of them came tramping back into the kitchen, they were ravenous to eat <i>anything</i> that wasn’t still mooing, oinking, or clucking back at them from the plate.</p>
<p>Now, in the crowded plaza, they began to sell their goods, and Bucky felt a sense of satisfaction. Their hard work was paying off in the form of local women, many of them housekeepers and cooks, gently picking up and “ooh’ing” over their produce and gathering up a dozen eggs to tuck into their baskets. </p>
<p>“Fresh eggs for your breakfast table?” Bucky encouraged as a young girl considered the apples.</p>
<p>“Not today. Not for me. Mam and I already gathered up a whole mess of ‘em this morning… hey. You have pretty eyes.”</p>
<p>Bucky laughed bashfully and ducked his face. Billy huffed beside him as he dropped coins from the last transaction into their modest cash box.</p>
<p>“You do!”</p>
<p>“Thank you, miss. You’re too kind.”</p>
<p>“Awwww. You know, I would like some apples.” She gave Bucky the money and let him drop six of them into her burlap sack. “I’m making a pie today.”</p>
<p>“It’s a perfect day for pie,” Bucky agreed. “Would you care for anything else?”</p>
<p>“Not eggs,” she reminded him.</p>
<p>“Perhaps some lovely herbs?” He indicated the basil and rosemary and neat bundles of garlic bulbs. </p>
<p>“Oh, I don’t… you know, I might go ahead and get some garlic.” She dropped another coin into his palm and accepted the bundle.</p>
<p>“What are you over here spending money on?” an older, plumped woman demanded as she approached. “Oh, hello there, sir,” she greeted, offering Bucky a polite nod as she sized him up.</p>
<p>“Apples,” she replied. “And a few other small things…” Her voice trailed off, and Billy raised his eyebrows at the exchange.</p>
<p>“A few other things, eh? Come along, now, Ellie.”</p>
<p>“Oh, all right, Mam!” She turned back to Bucky. “Have a lovely day!”</p>
<p>“A few other things,” her mother murmured as they bustled off.</p>
<p>“Turn up the charm a little more next time, and she might’ve bought eggs, anyway,” Billy told Bucky, elbowing him.</p>
<p>“She didn’t need eggs!”</p>
<p>“So? Keep showing off those dimples of yours. Let’s see what happens, Pretty Boy.”</p>
<p>Bucky narrowed his eyes at him, but Billy chuckled and greeted the next customer. Bucky unpacked more garlic and greeted more people as they approached.</p>
<p>Some of them gave in to curiosity, wanting to meet the new young man working at Steve and Billy’s stand. Bucky chatted them up, answering polite - and sometimes intrusive - questions, smiling the whole time, and the morning flew by. </p>
<p>“About time Rogers found himself some more help,” one man told Bucky. </p>
<p>“We’ve managed just fine!” Billy argued.</p>
<p>“There’s nothing wrong with an extra pair of hands. Two of you have been wearing yourselves ragged for as long as I’ve known you, Billy!”</p>
<p>“Not getting much help from <i>this one</i> half the time, he just sits there and buffs his nails!” Billy teased, and this time, the smile reached his eyes. Bucky restrained himself from making a rude comment and bagged up some apples for an appreciative granny who mentioned she was making apple butter for her visiting sons. Bucky saw Steve returning from the shop, hauling two enormous sacks of grain. The effort made Bucky appreciate the bulge of his muscular arms as he met them, and he gave Bucky a tentative smile.</p>
<p>“Are you managing all right?”</p>
<p>“He’s getting the hang of it,” Billy offered. “When he’s not letting <i>me</i> do it all.”</p>
<p>“But you do it so <i>well</i>,” Bucky countered. He hurried forward to help Steve with the grain sacks, which earned him a wider smile - oh, and a dimple. That was nice, Bucky decided. “Let me. Is there more?”</p>
<p>“Yes. I can go and get the rest of it-”</p>
<p>“Let me help.”</p>
<p>“Suit yourself.” The sack was heavy, all right, but Bucky managed to relieve Steve of both of them. The brief contact gave Bucky a whiff of Steve’s sweat and the soap he’d used that morning, with notes of lavender and basil. Steve’s eyes were shining with amusement at Bucky’s effort. Bucky hauled them over the side of the wagon. Bucky caught up with Steve’s long strides as he headed back to the shop, feeling for a moment like a child chasing his older, impatient brother. Harder than any chore Steve threw at him from day to day was fighting for his respect.</p>
<p><i>Worth it</i>, that tiny voice inside him insisted every time Steve gave him an inadvertent smile or something resembling a grudging compliment. They entered the shop and headed straight to the back, where a taciturn older man with thinning gray hair and sunken cheeks gave Steve a tight smile.</p>
<p>“Two weeks until you place your next order, yes?”</p>
<p>“Maybe,” Bucky interjected. Steve’s brows drew together.</p>
<p>“Of course, Johann. Two weeks, more than likely.”</p>
<p>“If you’re not planning to raise the price again,” Bucky said. He stared down Johann and tucked his hands into his jacket pockets, rocking back on his heels. “It’s gone up a bit in the past few weeks when Steve has ordered it from you. Our budget is tight.”</p>
<p>“All of us must tighten our belts, friend,” Johann chuckled, but there was an odd gleam in his eyes. “I can’t just give my grain away for free, or my own cupboards will be empty!”</p>
<p>“Bucky, the grain is set aside in the back, just inside the door. Four more sacks,” Steve told him, and Bucky heard the edge in his voice. He didn’t much care for it.</p>
<p>“It must be some fine grain,” Bucky mused. “You paid dearly enough for it,” he threw over his shoulder as he headed for the store room. Johann turned on his stool and adjusted his glasses.</p>
<p>“You won’t beat the quality of anything sold in my store, I’ll have you know,” he called after Bucky. “Quality costs money.”</p>
<p>“Grain is grain,” Bucky argued. “Quality doesn’t have to cost top dollar when you’re selling in <i>bulk</i>.”</p>
<p>Behind him, Johann’s face suffused with color. Steve, flustered, followed Bucky into the store room and closed the door after himself. “Bucky,” he hissed on a low whisper. “What do you think you’re doing?”</p>
<p>“Trying to keep you from promising him another sale if he’s just going to gouge you, Stevie.”</p>
<p>“He won’t keep selling to me if you’re rude to him, Bucky! Honestly! I thought you were here to help me ‘manage’ my farm more effectively, not run off everyone who I do honest business with!”</p>
<p>“<i>You</i> are the one doing honest business, Steve. But he’s overcharging you for feed. Do your research. Ask around. See how much your neighbors are paying for grain, and then tell me I’m being rude.”</p>
<p>“You just came to my farm, and you think you’re an expert already,” Steve grumbled.</p>
<p>“I also came from school, because I’m ‘fancy,’” Bucky told him, putting emphasis on the word, and Steve’s brows drew together.</p>
<p>“Well, you are, Mr. Fancy Pants!”</p>
<p>Bucky bit back a laugh. They were arguing in a dark, musty store room; Steve was leaning against the tower of grain sacks, with his hand planted on his hip, jaw clenched mulishly. </p>
<p>“Billy calls me Pretty Boy. Now, you call me Fancy Pants. I might leap to the conclusion that you two don’t like me very much, if I didn’t know better.”</p>
<p>“You think you know better?”</p>
<p>“I think you need me.”</p>
<p>“For what?”</p>
<p>“To save you from yourself. So that you don’t work yourself into an early grave and die a pauper. And to help you save your family’s farm.”</p>
<p>“To save me from my- that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”</p>
<p>“Let’s take the grain to the wagon, Steve, and let’s not spill any. Not one overpriced grain of it, because that’s your <i>profit</i> that you’ll be leaving behind on the floor.”</p>
<p>Bucky tugged at the first sack on top of the stack, forcing Steve to back off and remove his elbow. Steve made an exasperated sound, and his blue eyes flashed at Bucky.</p>
<p>“I don’t know why I put up with you.”</p>
<p>“I know why,” Bucky told him smoothly as he opened the door.</p>
<p>“Take a second one. Don’t waste a trip. It wastes time.”</p>
<p>Bucky remained mum on that subject. He struggled under the second sack when Steve shoved it into his arms. Bucky stumbled back with the impact, nearly losing his footing. Steve realized his error and hurried to right him, saving him from falling back against a pickle barrel. His strong arm caught Bucky around the waist. Bucky grunted a little at the feeling of being pulled steady. </p>
<p>Steve’s brows drew together again, and he stared into Bucky’s face, realizing their proximity. His nostrils flared and his eyes flicked over Bucky’s features briefly. Assessing him. “Careful,” Steve muttered. “Don’t drop my grain.”</p>
<p>“Don’t knock me over with it, then.” </p>
<p>Bucky felt bereft of the contact with Steve released him and grabbed his own two sacks of grain. They exited the store room, while Johann watched them with wry amusement.</p>
<p>“You could save a trip into town by purchasing more grain this time, Steven. The Rasputins have reserved most of what I have in the back, but I could set some aside for you, if you like.”</p>
<p>“We’re fine,” Bucky answered.</p>
<p>“Er… we are, Johann. We’re fine,” Steve assured him as they hurried out of the shop. Once they were down the block, Steve growled at Bucky, “Stop answering for me.”</p>
<p>“Then stop spouting foolish things to greedy shop owners.”</p>
<p>They made their way back to the marketplace and their wagon, and managed to get the rest of the grain into the back in one more trip. They spent the rest of the day selling their goods, and by the time the sun shifted into the west, they were down to their last bushel of apples, and all of the eggs were gone. Bucky felt pleased, but Billy told them, “We might be able to trade them.”</p>
<p>“No, we’ll sell them,” Steve said. The crowds had thinned as families went home for their suppers. The Guthries were packing up their wagon. Josh stopped by and offered Steve a bouquet bursting with autumn colors, orange and red dahlias, large sunflowers, and yellow and white daisies. </p>
<p>“Here. Take these for Sarah. She always liked them.”</p>
<p>Steve nodded, smiling, and the softness in that look was unfamiliar to Bucky. “She did. I’m sure she’ll enjoy them. Thank you.” He grasped the bouquet and handed them to Bucky. “Here. Hold on to these. Don’t let them get crushed.”</p>
<p>“I won’t.”</p>
<p>“Guess the two of us will do the <i>real</i> work, then,” Billy teased, but there was no rancor in it. He elbowed Steve fondly. “She’ll like them.”</p>
<p>Just then, Bucky nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of a familiar male voice. “You, there! I need those apples! Are they still for sale?” He turned and saw Pietro’s silver head above the crowd and automatically turned away, pulling his hat further down over his brow. Bucky’s heart pounded in panic. “Blast,” he muttered. </p>
<p>“Bucky, see if he’ll take the whole…” Billy looked up and noticed that Bucky wasn’t there. “.,,bushel. Where did he go?”</p>
<p>“I need these for cider. Hello, there. Apples are the last thing that I need today.” Pietro greeted them warmly and afford Billy the money. “I can bring this back,” he said, indicating the basket, “once I empty it into my cart. Wasn’t there another man with you two a moment ago?”</p>
<p>“There <i>was</i>,” Billy scoffed. “Guess he was shy.”</p>
<p>“He looked familiar,” Pietro mused. “All right. You gentleman have a lovely evening! My employer and his wife will enjoy the cider I’m planning. It’s getting chilly outside.”</p>
<p>“It’s nice,” Steve told him. “I’m enjoying it, for now.”</p>
<p>“Until it gets all blustery out, and you catch that cough again,” Billy scolded. “You were laid up for days, last time.”</p>
<p>“You seem like you have such a strong constitution,” Pietro argued. “You are the picture of good health!”</p>
<p>“That hasn’t always been true. But it’s a wonder what good, fresh air and sunshine will do for a man,” Steve told him. He clapped Pietro’s shoulder. “Enjoy the apples. You’ve saved us from having to haul them back home.” He glanced around in confusion. “Where is he?”</p>
<p>“Got me,” Billy said, shrugging.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mere yards away, Josh Guthrie nudged Bucky with his foot. “Is there any particular reason why you’re hiding under the turnips?”</p>
<p>“Just tell me if Pietro is gone.”</p>
<p>“The fellow with silvery hair and the big eyes? Yeah, he’s moved on. Bought up the last of your apples. Can’t see why you’d hide from him, if that’s all he was looking for.”</p>
<p>Bucky got up from his crouch. He saw Pietro’s retreating back and expelled his breath. “He’s a kind soul. I have no issue with him. Only with him seeing my current occupation.”</p>
<p>“Nothing’s wrong with farming, man! It’s an honest living!”</p>
<p>“It is. I just haven’t been honest with my family about who I’m doing it for. Sorry for interrupting your packing up.”</p>
<p>“It’s all right. It’s been fun watching you and Billy going at it. Hey. Just so you know, he’s a good man. He’s been helping Steve out for years, and he means well enough.”</p>
<p>“He’s just brash,” Sam agreed. “Only time he ever softens up is around Teddy. I haven’t seen him here today.”</p>
<p>“Hope he’s all right,” Josh said.</p>
<p>“Teddy… oh. <i>Teddy</i>.” Bucky remembered Steve and Billy both mentioning him.</p>
<p>“Billy practically falls all over himself whenever he’s around.”</p>
<p>“I’d give anything to see that.”</p>
<p>Bucky watched Pietro leave the market and returned to Steve’s stand, earning himself an odd look.</p>
<p>“Where did you go?”</p>
<p>“I just, er. Wanted to see if the Guthries had anything worth trading.”</p>
<p>“Did they?”</p>
<p>“Maybe next time.”</p>
<p>“Fair enough.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bucky left the Rogers farm just before sunset and made his way up to his apartment, where he stripped down to his knickers and shirt and cracked open the window, letting the cool evening air fan over his heated flesh. He collapsed onto the bed, grateful for the sensation of gravity coursing through his limbs, making him sink into the down. Close. That had been too close. That left him with the problem of how to help Steve - could he even call it helping, if Steve didn’t want it? - if he went with him into town. Bucky knew he might have to limit his attempts to help him to the farm itself. Where he didn’t feel particularly useful, since there was still so much he needed to learn.</p>
<p>Bucky heard a low knock on his door, and he sat up abruptly, struggling to refasten the buttons of his shirt. “Who is it?”</p>
<p>“Clint,” he called back fondly. </p>
<p>Bucky grinned as he hurried to let him in, not needing to stand on ceremony. He opened the door, and Clint let himself in, bearing a covered plate. “Brought you supper.”</p>
<p>“That was kind, Clint.”</p>
<p>“Wanted to see how you’re getting along, James.”</p>
<p>“Bucky. Remember to call me Bucky.” He peered down the corridor and shut the door to ensure their privacy.</p>
<p>“I don’t get why, but all right.”</p>
<p>“It’s complicated.”</p>
<p>“I bet it is.” Clint’s look was mischievous as he nodded to the plate that he’d handed Bucky. “Go on. Dig in before it gets cold.”</p>
<p>Bucky removed the towel from the plate and groaned in pleasure at the sight of the meat and potatoes, the hunk of crusty bread and a lump of soft cheese that looked like Clint had toasted it. It melted as he spread it over the bread. He took a greedy bite and told him, “That’s heavenly.”</p>
<p>“You’ve been out on the farm all day, right?”</p>
<p>“Actually, I was at the market today, but I’ve been up since dawn.”</p>
<p>“You’re looking tanned,” Clint remarked. </p>
<p>That gave Bucky pause. “I’ve been spending a lot of time outdoors.”</p>
<p>“Bet your parents and sister won’t be used to seeing you look like that.”</p>
<p>“So, how are things at the shop?” Bucky asked, changing the subject.</p>
<p>“Peachy. My chocolate covered strawberries are selling as fast as I set them out.” He proudly set down a handkerchief on Bucky’s small vanity and opened its folds, revealing two of the glossy, rich treats. </p>
<p>“They look wonderful. Bless you.” Bucky hadn’t indulged much in sweets since he started working on the farm.</p>
<p>“Enjoy them. This place is a lot more spartan than you’re used to, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“It will do. It’s enough, for now. Until I can make my own way, and hopefully, build my own home.” Bucky thought of the house on Steve’s farm. Very simple. Drafty. Crumbling a bit here and there. It had potential, but Steve was struggling as it was just to make his farm profitable. Bucky knew that Steve probably wouldn’t take his advice on things he could fix to make it more comfortable, or in the worst possible scenario, how to improve it enough to make it sellable if he ended up losing his farm. Bucky shivered at the thought. He couldn’t picture Steve heartbroken and resigned, giving up his family estate and everything he and Sarah had worked for.</p>
<p>“It’s not terrible. Perhaps just a bit plain. But, you have a place to lay your head at night! That’s all a man needs.”</p>
<p>“So. You just decided to stop by and bring me supper?”</p>
<p>“No. I ran into your father. He asked after you and wondered if you were going to come home on Sunday for supper. Or perhaps meet him for services.”</p>
<p>Bucky paled. “Church… blast.” </p>
<p>It had been a while. Bucky was so caught up in the farm that he had missed four Sundays in the pew with his family. </p>
<p>“Wouldn’t hurt to see them, would it? It’s nice to have a family to spend time with, even when they meddle in your business.”</p>
<p>“Speaking of which… I need you to do something for me.”</p>
<p>“Name it.”</p>
<p>“They can’t know I have been working on Steve’s farm. Please tell me you haven’t told them that’s where I am!”</p>
<p>“I didn’t. I just said that you bought my wagon.”</p>
<p>Bucky clapped his palm over his mouth and scrubbed it down his jaw in frustration.</p>
<p>“Was that wrong? Please, tell me if that was wrong?” Clint looked chagrined. “Aw, Bucky, no! Did I misspeak?</p>
<p>“Father will wonder why. No, Clint, it’s all right. It’s all right.”</p>
<p>Clint looked unconvinced and entirely apologetic. Bucky reached out and squeezed his arm. “Don’t worry about it. Just… don’t volunteer too much information to them. All right?”</p>
<p>“That’s fine with me. I’ll button my lip going forward,” Clint told him, making sewing motions over his mouth, lips pressed thin. Bucky laughed.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm sorry if this is short. I've been trying to ease back into writing after a long hiatus, a difficult move, LOTS of extra hours at work, and just... life. Yeah. Anyhoo.</p>
<p>Hopefully more to come soon. I have a couple of Big Bang and other writing and art exchange obligations to finish, but I hope to get back to this.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Country Gossip</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Your brother wasn’t exactly a quick study when it came to milking a cow. Got himself kicked and had his chimes rung by sitting on the wrong side.”</p>
<p>“Oh. There’s a wrong side?”</p>
<p>“Indeed, there is, and Bucky found it!”</p>
<p>“Oh, that’s brilliant. Tell me more.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I know it has taken me a while to get back to this, and I got that LOVELY message from the FTH mods that my auction prize for my lovely bidder was still incomplete. Nothing quite lights a fire under your fanny like getting that in your inbox.</p>
<p>Have some of Bucky and Steve being cute and some foreshadowing...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“It’s been a while since Bucky joined us for supper,” Winifred mused as she worked on her needlepoint.</p>
<p>“Miss him, do you, Mrs. Barnes?” George teased fondly. “We no longer have to feather the nest so thickly, now that one of your chicks has left it.”</p>
<p>“Don’t say that!” Winifred shot him a mulish look as she unrolled a card of green floss. “I’m just thinking we need to have him around soon. I need to set eyes on him. So that I can make sure he’s feeding himself up properly and taking care of himself.”</p>
<p>George wasn’t overly worried, and was glad to divulge why. “From the mouths of my associates, our son has been keeping himself busy. He’s been circulating and working on the books. He’s learning, dear. I don’t expect him to get everything right on his first whiff of real, honest work. But,” and George smiled at her over the edge of his newspaper, “sending him off to Pembroke wasn’t a wasted investment at all.”</p>
<p>“Well, of course it wasn’t.” Her voice held a light scold, and she narrowed her eyes at her husband for daring to suggest otherwise. “He’s brilliant. We already knew that about our son, but he deserved nothing less.”</p>
<p>“I still expect him to make good on my investment. I want it to bear fruit through his hard work for the family business. I expect to hear no more about that ‘writing’ rubbish.”</p>
<p>“It’s a dream of his, dear. Dreams aren’t ‘rubbish.’”</p>
<p>“They are when they don’t put food on the table.”</p>
<p>“I dreamed of raising a family and running a lovely and productive home after a certain charmer convinced my father that he would keep me under a stable roof, even though he had barely finished university himself. You’d just started your first farm, as I recall. That dream of mine was hardly rubbish, was it? Nor was yours.”</p>
<p>“Touche, Winifred.”</p>
<p>“Hmmph.”</p>
<p>Becca entered the study, carrying a small book under her arm. “Did I hear you mention Bucky? Is he coming over?”</p>
<p>“We haven’t heard from him quite yet, darling.”</p>
<p>“How unusual,” Becca said. “You would think he would miss Cook’s stew and dumplings enough by now to have shown his face at the table.”</p>
<p>“Becca!” Winifred gave her daughter a long-suffering look. “And you think he doesn’t miss <i>us</i> at least as much as he does the stew and dumplings?”</p>
<p>“No. Knowing Bucky, absolutely not.”</p>
<p>“Impertinent child…”</p>
<p>“You know I’m right.” Becca smirked as she opened her book to where she had it marked with a light blue ribbon tucked down the spine.</p>
<p>“Just for that, you will be the messenger. We will have you go to his apartment and tell him to come to supper tomorrow night at four.”</p>
<p>“What? Mother, I just sat down!”</p>
<p>“Well, back on your feet. You can take the carriage.”</p>
<p>“Alone?”</p>
<p>“No. Wanda can go with you, certainly. Go. Avail yourself of the fresh air. Invite your brother to supper.”</p>
<p>“I don’t see why I have to,” Becca complained, but there was no heat in it. She missed Bucky, too, and wondered what he was up to since the last time she saw him. It was frankly boring around the house when he was off working, but she would never tell him that.</p>
<p>“Come, now, Becca. Bundle yourself warmly, it’s brisk out. Take the carriage.”</p>
<p>“Oh, fine, then.”</p>
<p>George raised his eyebrow in silent warning at her over the edge of his paper. Becca flounced off with her book and went upstairs. She went through her armoire and found warm, woolen stockings, mittens, a long, knitted muffler, and her jacket. The mornings were frosty, but the afternoons were still mild. Soon enough, Bucky would have less work to do with the harvesting on the farms, and more to do with the books. Becca was getting ready for her Season in the spring. The family’s modiste was hard at work on Becca’s gowns for the prospective balls, and Becca was excited, even though she envied Bucky his time at university. </p>
<p>She descended the stairs and found Wanda in the kitchen peeling some apples for pie. “Wanda, I need you to please accompany me into town. I’m going to invite Bucky to supper.”</p>
<p>Wanda brightened. “Oh, how lovely! It’s been an age since he last came home. You must miss him!”</p>
<p>“As much as you’d miss Pietro if he suddenly didn’t pop your head into your business every other minute?” Becca scoffed, and Pietro stuck his tongue out at them both. Wanda crossed her eyes at him and threw a wedge of apple at his backside, making him yelp. Wanda donned her own outer clothing and joined Becca in the front yard as they beckoned to the driver. He nodded to them and hurried to the carriage to open the door.</p>
<p>“We’d like to go to James’ apartment in town,” she informed him. </p>
<p>“Yes, miss,” he agreed, and they were off. The women peered through the tiny curtain over the window, enjoying the countryside and pale gray sky.</p>
<p>“I wonder how much of a mess he’s left it,” Becca mused. </p>
<p>“We’ll soon see.”</p>
<p>But Becca was excited to see him, and she decided on a side trip first. She opened the window and called out, “Can we go to the confectioner’s first? I have pocket money and want to buy some sweets.”</p>
<p>“Of course, miss.”</p>
<p>“Wonderful.”</p>
<p>They stopped at Clint’s shop and breezed in, practically salivating over the scents of fruit, chocolate and rich creams. Clint waved them over and automatically held up a tiny plate of samples.</p>
<p>“If you like toffee, you’ll love this.”</p>
<p>“Do I love toffee? You might as well have proposed to me, Mr. Barton, those are sweet, sweet words… oh, my goodness.” Becca’s face went on a journey when she popped the small, sticky morsel into her mouth. “It’s spectacular.”</p>
<p>Clint laughed, eyes crinkling. “That’s high praise!”</p>
<p>“She’s exaggerating, nothing can be that good,” Wanda argued, but she smiled up at him and reached for a toffee. After tasting it, she admitted, “I stand corrected. And I am not unhappy to be found wrong.”</p>
<p>“Allow me to educate you, then, on the cream mints I just made. And the bourbon bonbons.”</p>
<p>“Oh, you’re making this so hard. I don’t even want to share any of these with my brother, even though that was the whole point. You’re going to force me to behave myself and give him some, aren’t you?”</p>
<p>“Well. I could appeal to your better nature. Or, I could just sneak in a couple of extra candies and hope the owner of this shop doesn’t notice…”</p>
<p>“Oh, I would hate for you to deceive such a kind, generous, handsome, talented man of such impeccable-”</p>
<p>“Oh, quit that. I’ll throw a couple of extra into your order, you troublesome girl.”</p>
<p>Becca clapped her hands while Wanda snickered. Clint packed up the sweets into one of his gilt-edged boxes and chatted away.</p>
<p>“What are you doing today?”</p>
<p>“I am going to issue my errant brother an invitation to supper with Mother, Papa and me.” </p>
<p>“Errant? You can hardly call him ‘errant,’ he’s just <i>busy</i>,” Clint told her. “I rarely see him here, but I see him everywhere else. On the Rasputin farm, the Lensherr farm, at the Guthries, well… just about all of the ones in this district. He’s learning the ropes firsthand, and the hard way, from what I’m told.”</p>
<p>“Oh, <i>do</i> tell,” Becca pleaded, dark blue eyes shining. She laid her palms on the counter and leaned in, glancing around the shop furtively. Wanda looked away politely, studying the displays of treats in the case and on the shelves.</p>
<p>“Your brother wasn’t exactly a quick study when it came to milking a cow. Got himself kicked and had his chimes rung by sitting on the wrong side.”</p>
<p>“Oh. There’s a wrong side?”</p>
<p>“Indeed, there is, and Bucky found it!”</p>
<p>“Oh, that’s brilliant. Tell me more.”</p>
<p>“Got himself chased by a turkey a few weeks back. Ripped the backside out of his trousers when they got caught on a loose fence nail. Knocked over the butter churn and lost half the cream…”</p>
<p>“Oh, my word! Poor Bucket!”</p>
<p>“Poor Bucky is Bucket?” Clint asked, grinning now.</p>
<p>“He always has been.”</p>
<p>“I’ll still never understand how he even came to be Bucky instead of Jim, or even Jamie.”</p>
<p>“His middle name,” Becca reminded him. “It’s Buchanan. Surely he’s mentioned it.”</p>
<p>Clint kept mum, as he had promised, about Bucky’s continuing insistence about borrowing his own last name, as part of his ruse. It still made precious little sense to Clint, but he had no problem keeping a secret for one of his most enthusiastic customers, and, after a fashion, a friend of which he was most fond. “I’ll make sure to tease him about it the next time I run into him.”</p>
<p>“Oh, no! Don’t! Clint! He will blame <i>me</i>, and we cannot have that!”</p>
<p>“Then, stop making trouble and dragging me into it!” Clint scolded, and he playfully booped her nose. Becca swatted at his hand and took the box of chocolates.</p>
<p>“He’s going to love this, I might use this to bargain with him to come to supper, now.”</p>
<p>“If you don’t ruin his appetite for it,” Clint said.</p>
<p>“Those toffees <i>are</i> lovely,” Wanda chimed in. “Thank you for expanding my horizons, sir.”</p>
<p>“You’re most welcome, miss.” Clint waved them off.</p>
<p>“Have a lovely day, Clint,” Becca called out to him as they rushed off to the carriage.</p>
<p>“You’ve got your hands full, Bucket. Don’t slip up,” Clint muttered to himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bucky finished washing himself at the basin in his room, still standing in his shirt and breeches when Becca knocked sharply on his door. “Bucky, are you there?”</p>
<p>“Here, but not yet… decent! Hold on, Becca!”</p>
<p>Becca kept knocking insistently, just to annoy him, and he heard another feminine giggle, telling him she wasn’t alone, but that meant whoever it was would get an eyeful of him if he didn’t pull himself together. Bucky found his discarded pair of trousers and hopped into them, rushing to finish buttoning them as he shuffled toward the door. “Becca, stop that!”</p>
<p>“Hellooooooo?” she sang. “I’m looking for my dearest brother Bucket…”</p>
<p>“Good Lord,” Bucky huffed as he finally yanked open the door. “What?!” he demanded. Becca and Wanda merely grinned at him, and he rolled his eyes in disgust. “What do you two want?”</p>
<p>“Is that anyway to greet us when we bring such glad tidings?”</p>
<p>“Or an invitation, anyway,” Wanda clarified.</p>
<p>“Good afternoon, Bucky.”</p>
<p>“You’re both terrible.”</p>
<p>“I’m your sister. I was <i>born</i> to be terrible.”</p>
<p>“The worst,” Bucky agreed as he ushered them inside and kissed her cheek and gave Wanda a brief hug. He finished buttoning his shirt as Becca sat down in his favorite chair. Wanda leaned on the arm of it and glanced around his quarters.</p>
<p>“It’s cozy,” she mentioned.</p>
<p>“It’s a hovel,” he corrected her, “but it’s <i>my</i> hovel.”</p>
<p>“I like it!”</p>
<p>“So do I,” Becca told him, even though he knew she was only being nice.</p>
<p>“It will do for now.”</p>
<p>“Father is paying you enough of a salary that you could afford something a bit nicer than this, isn’t he?”</p>
<p>“This will suffice for my needs, Becs.”</p>
<p>Because if Bucky rented a much nicer flat than this, in a more opulent, reputable quarter of town, and if Steve or Billy saw him coming out of it, looking like the son of a man of means, well. That would ruin his disguise. He needed to get to know Steve better, he needed to help him improve his farm’s income, and hopefully, earn his trust, and his warmth. There were moments when Steve smiled at him, even the times when he laughed at Bucky’s expense, when it transformed him. Bucky craved that rich, masculine laughter and the way it made his eyes twinkle. He was handsome when he smiled, and he was tactile. When Bucky served them his attempt at jam, and it turned out that he’d used <i>salt</i> instead of sugar, Billy choked back several expletives when he tasted it, rounding on Bucky for wasting a batch of berries, but Steve laughed uproariously, and his hand landed on Bucky’s chest for support. His palm felt warm through Bucky’s shirt; the contact made Bucky tingle with a rush, and he felt a blush blooming in his cheeks. Steve gave his shoulder a little shake as he told him, “Maybe next time pay attention to which sack you measure them from, Barton.”</p>
<p>Bucky almost corrected him, holding back the <i>Barnes</i> that leapt onto his tongue. “Beginner’s effort.”</p>
<p>“If that was you beginning anything, let’s make that your last attempt,” Billy suggested as he dumped the ruined jam into the compost. His usual rancor, Bucky heard in his voice, but it was accompanied by a smirk that was almost fond. Bucky could only hope that he was wearing him down. “Heaven help us all if that was your best effort.”</p>
<p>Bucky was exhausted. Learning the odds and ends of the Rogers farm was difficult enough, but Bucky could only devote a day or two a week to helping Steve and Billy. On the days in between, he had to visit and work with his father’s associate farms, and they all did things so differently. In keeping with the stories Billy had told Bucky about the Rasputins, Mikhail, the oldest son, truly <i>did</i> play his violin for the cows and goats.</p>
<p>“Makes the milk sweeter,” Piotr claimed as Bucky sat, rapt, and listened to Mikhail playing. His calloused, work-roughened hands had myriad scars and thickened joints, but he held the bow expertly, reverently as he caressed the strings of an instrument that had to cost the family a pretty penny. His expression was rapturous, passionate as he played a composition that Bucky didn’t recognize, but it stirred up strong emotions in his core. Piotr worked up in the loft, baling and stacking hay while their younger sister, Illyana, stood up on a short stool and churned cream. She was already bundled in heavy clothing, and her cheeks were pink from the drafty air, but she looked pleased as she listened to her oldest brother play.</p>
<p>Bucky spoke to his father that week about an additional money for them to repair the roof of their barn, but the Rasputins waved him off. “We can manage it,” they assured him, and when Bucky offered him some funds of his own, they wouldn’t hear of it. Bucky instead offered to purchase some of their herbs, thinking to make a gift of them to Winifred. </p>
<p>“You aren’t paying for our roof,” Mrs. Rasputin told him sternly.</p>
<p>“No. I’m merely buying herbs. They look wonderful.”</p>
<p>“Then, you buy herbs.” She pinched his cheek and assembled small, cheesecloth-wrapped bundles of each. Bucky kept them on a shelf at his flat while he waited for the next time he would see his parents, and Becca presented the perfect opportunity. </p>
<p>She looked fresh and carefully groomed for a simple afternoon excursion. Becca had the freedom to meet for teas in her friends’ parlors, to visit her modiste for fittings, or to harass Clint at his sweet shop whenever she wished. Bucky envied Becca in that she would go into her Season in the spring without having to worry about adopting a ruse, or struggling to make ends meet in the meantime. She could be her authentic self, charming, slightly spoiled, but sweet. Unencumbered. Oh, how Bucky longed for that ease…</p>
<p>“Perhaps you could brighten it a bit with some different curtains. Or some -”</p>
<p>“It will do, Becca.”</p>
<p>“I suppose. You must not be planning to entertain guests,” she joked.</p>
<p>Wanda’s eyes shone with amusement. “Unless you have been spending your time as a houseguest, yourself?”</p>
<p>“Will the two of you just <i>stop.</i>”</p>
<p>Wanda and Becca snickered, and Becca got up and gave Bucky a cloying, clingy hug that he tried to brush off. “We love you, darling brother! We just want so badly to see you wed and to be made an honest man!”</p>
<p>Bucky scowled without heat. “You’re the worst sister in the world. And you, Wanda, stop indulging her.”</p>
<p>“After a fashion, I <i>do</i> work for her, so indulging her is one of my duties.”</p>
<p>“Yet, you enjoy it far too much.”</p>
<p>“I do.”</p>
<p>“Just come to supper, Bucky. Please?”</p>
<p>“I will come. You are <i>such</i> a brat.”</p>
<p>Becca clapped and bounced on her heels.</p>
<p>“Go! You two, get out! Go wait in the carriage for me. Let me finish dressing and make myself presentable.”</p>
<p>“Then, I supposed we will be waiting long-”</p>
<p>“Out.” Bucky’s hand snapped itself toward the door, index finger sharply extended.</p>
<p>They giggled as they rushed off, taking Bucky’s grumbles with them.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The carriage ride felt strange to Bucky, after so many weeks of driving himself in Clint’s old wagon. The sensation of the plushly upholstered seat, the scent, the view through the tiny window as the landscape outside rolled smoothly by, came to him as a vaguely remembered dream. <i>This is Father’s carriage.</i> There were definitely advantages to riding in it, such as protection from the elements. Becca sat at his side and shared her blanket with him and pointed out the window periodically.</p>
<p>“There is the Xavier estate,” she explained. “Ororo is home from university.”</p>
<p>“Not finishing school?”</p>
<p>“No. She is studying the sciences, interestingly enough. I never realized she was so interesting until she invited me to tea. Emma was there; it’s been a while since I’ve spoken with her, either.”</p>
<p>“That’s nice.”</p>
<p>“They said they went to school with you when we still lived here in town.”</p>
<p>“That was a long time ago.”</p>
<p>Becca gave him a sly look. “DId you know Steve Rogers back then?”</p>
<p>Bucky scoffed. “Steve? How would I have known him?”</p>
<p>“Well, you were just boys then, but surely you would have met him?”</p>
<p>“I remember Clint. We are about the same age. There was a young boy, back then. A year behind me, but it couldn’t have been him.”</p>
<p>“Oh? What was he like?”</p>
<p>Bucky smiled, and his eyes drifted down to his lap. He picked at the fibers in the weave of the blanket thoughtfully. “Tiny. Bright blond hair. Pale. And very, very angry. He used to sit there with a little sketchbook.”</p>
<p>“Bucky, are you joking with me?”</p>
<p>“No. That wasn’t the same person. It couldn’t have been. If you knew Steve Rogers, the man whose farm I’ve been breaking my back to save, you would never confuse him with that boy, Becca.”</p>
<p>“I was too little to join you in school yet, and by then, I know Mother said that we had moved away.”</p>
<p>“Yes, but you went back to that school even after I was sent to Eton.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know that Steven Rogers was still there by then.”</p>
<p>“Because you were so young.”</p>
<p>“No. I just don’t know if he finished.”</p>
<p>Bucky considered that. “It’s still probably not the same boy. It couldn’t be.”</p>
<p>“Wouldn’t it be intriguing if it was, though? Almost like fate, Bucky! Imagine it. Father tried to arrange a marriage for you to the boy you knew in school, and you are trying to court him now!”</p>
<p>“I’m trying to <i>help</i> him,” Bucky corrected her. “And… if it turns out that we have anything in common, that could be considered a benefit. I want to right the wrong that his uncle, and that our father, have both done to him.”</p>
<p>“You cannot tell me you are not courting him. Even without seeing you with him, I know you, Bucket. I’m certain you are showing him your charm and making eyes at him. And I don’t blame you. He’s gallant. He saved me from a terrible tumble off the steps, once.”</p>
<p>“Hmmmm.”</p>
<p>Becca looked pleased with herself. Bucky stared out the window, still discounting her earlier claim, but enjoying the memory of his younger, former classmate.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They reached the Barnes house and shortly joined George and Winifred in the dining room. Winifred, after enthusiastic greetings and displays of affection (“Come to the table at once, we must fatten you up with some of this lovely stew!”), she hung on Bucky’s every word and peppered him with questions.</p>
<p>“Your skin is so rosy and healthy,” she commented.</p>
<p>“Farm life,” he offered.</p>
<p>“All that fresh air,” she agreed. “It’s put apples in your cheeks.” It also brought out sandy glints in his sable brown hair. </p>
<p>“Thank you, Mother.”</p>
<p>“Hard work is its own reward,” George added, as though he didn’t helm his company from the comfort of his mahogany desk. “I’ve been hearing good things from my associates, son.”</p>
<p>“I can only hope so, Father.”</p>
<p>“It’s so lovely to have you here, Bucky. Since we are on the subject, have you given any more thought to finding a spouse?” Winifred smiled nonchalantly as she broached the completely new topic. Bucky’s spoon hovered over his stew bowl, dripping broth back into it.</p>
<p>“I’ve been very busy, Mother.”</p>
<p>Becca smirked as she speared a lump of potato from her plate, then looked away. Bucky gave her a panicked look before his mother continued.</p>
<p>“Perhaps when spring arrives, we can have you join the promenade and visit a few parlors. I know that things didn’t go quite as we planned, before.” Winifred hesitated, unsure of how to bring up the botched nuptials from almost three months ago. “That doesn’t mean you should give up on marriage or finding the right wife, or husband.”</p>
<p>“Plenty of my associates have suitable candidates,” George added.</p>
<p>“Candidates?” Bucky looked horrified. “Candidates for, what, exactly? My hand? For the end of my bachelorhood? Father, that sounds ridiculous!”</p>
<p>“What’s good for the goose,” Becca teased. “If I am to be married off, then so are you, Bucket.</p>
<p>“Yes, but you <i>want</i> to be, Becca!”</p>
<p>Becca shrugged. “So did you, before.”</p>
<p>“Do we have to talk about this at supper?”</p>
<p>“It’s worth discussing,” George said.</p>
<p>“Is it?”</p>
<p>“James,” George said. “Listen to me. I know that I might have been hasty in choosing Steve Rogers as a match. I realize I trusted him to be worthy, and I thought a union between our families would only profit us all. He proved me incorrect. He reneged after accepting the proposal-”</p>
<p>“A proposal that included a generous amount of duress, Father. I feel we dangled his family home before his nose, like a carrot.”</p>
<p>“Family home… James. That farm could have turned a generous profit several times - no, <i>dozens</i> of times over by now.”</p>
<p>“His uncle ran it into the ground!” Bucky cried. “He just needs to get caught up, and he has no staff, he’s almost on his own-”</p>
<p>“Pardon?”</p>
<p>“There’s only Billy Kaplan helping him-”</p>
<p>“How do you know his name?”</p>
<p>Bucky clapped his mouth shut.</p>
<p>“I. I met him at the farmer’s market,” he lied. “Said he works for the Rogers farm.”</p>
<p>Becca expelled a shaky breath and gave her peas her full attention. Her parents ignored her while George continued to interrogate his son.</p>
<p>“I hope you haven’t broken your promise to me, or the contract you signed.”</p>
<p>“I haven’t, Father!”</p>
<p>Not if “Bucky Barton” was managing the Rogers farm, he didn’t add.</p>
<p>George eyed him sternly. </p>
<p>“Bucky,” Winifred said. “He left you standing in the chapel, alone. It was cowardly. A gentleman couldn’t do such a thing.”</p>
<p>“Gentleman” didn’t describe the Steve Bucky knew, and Bucky didn’t want to agree with his mother, even though she was speaking on Bucky’s behalf, out of love. Steve Rogers was hardly a gentleman in some aspects. Bucky had heard him shout expletives when he earned splinters from the fence posts or herded the pigs or knocked down hornet’s nests from the eaves of the barn. He ate with appalling table etiquette and belched out loud, wiped his nose on his sleeve while eschewing handkerchiefs, and, well… there were other qualities that Bucky could list. But then, Becca raised the encounter she had with him when he saved her from a “terrible tumble on the steps.” A gentleman would do that, wouldn’t he?</p>
<p>“We don’t know why he did that, Mother.”</p>
<p>“We don’t need an explanation, darling. But, we also don’t need to repeat that by trusting him again.”</p>
<p>“Repeating it?” Bucky shook his head and offered her a rueful smile “Why? Do you have any other prospects that are trying to get into Father’s good graces and earn a place in the family empire?”</p>
<p>“Stop it, James,” George snapped. “That’s no way to talk to your mother. I won’t tolerate disrespect in his house.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t mean to seem disrespectful.”</p>
<p>“Your attitude is insolent, when we mean well. Steven Rogers embarrassed this family.”</p>
<p>“There’s no reason to be embarrassed, Father, when we’ve done nothing wrong.” </p>
<p>George frowned, exhaling a ragged sigh.</p>
<p>Yet, Bucky disagreed with his own words. The longer he spent in Steve Rogers’ company, the more he realized his own family had, indeed, wronged him. In so many ways.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Steve tended his herds and his waning autumn crops, planning the items that could be canned and pickled for sale and for his own food stores. He showed Bucky the herbs and roots that he sold to the pharmacy, his mother’s previous employer, that they used to make potions and tinctures. </p>
<p>“Chamomile is calming, not just good for tea. Opium is made from poppies -”</p>
<p>“I knew that.”</p>
<p>Steve smiled at him and gave Bucky’s shoulder a friendly pat. “Then, that fancy education of yours might actually prove helpful.”</p>
<p>“You constantly question its usefulness. I’m tempted to claim insult.”</p>
<p>“And, then what? Duel me at dawn?”</p>
<p>Bucky snickered. “You don’t have time to duel me at that hour. You’ll be in the barn with the cows.”</p>
<p>Billy grinned as he unwrapped a slab of cheese from its cloth and sliced it into wedges. He watched the two of them bickering and noticed how Barton watched his longtime friend and employer with hearts in his eyes, as though no one else noticed. </p>
<p>“I can finish the milking before the sun fully rises. Because I know which side to sit on.”</p>
<p>“You, sir, are hilarious.”</p>
<p>Billy snickered, and Bucky shot him a dirty look.</p>
<p>“Will you be Steve’s second?”</p>
<p>“I know how to polish a pistol, Barton, but I know I will be an old man before you learn the proper direction to hold one, won’t I? And I can wait that long for you to learn how to do anything helpful around here.” Then, Billy’s barbs found a different target. “Besides, Steve can’t hit the broad side of a barn. He’s a terrible shot.”</p>
<p>Steve threw a twig of basil at Billy, who merely laughed as he ducked. Bucky snickered, and Steve threw a twig at him, too, hitting him squarely in the nose. “Poor shot, am I?”</p>
<p>“And a poor sport! You listen to <i>this one</i>,” Bucky told him, pointing to Billy, who was wholly unapologetic, “riding me all the time and don’t say a word!”</p>
<p>Steve sighed, then shrugged. “A few years at Pembroke taught you numbers. You learned the proper side to milk a cow in one morning. Which was the best investment in your education?”</p>
<p>“I’m here to work, not to be ‘educated.’”</p>
<p>“I could argue that with you.”</p>
<p>“Or, you could stop wasting time. Do we have any more jars for pickling, or so we need to buy some more when we go to town?”</p>
<p>Steve smiled at him and gave him a friendly shove. “I have more of them in the cellar. Don’t worry about it, Bucky. We should have enough.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How is Steven doing?” Darlene asked Sam as she arranged a bouquet of autumn flowers and eucalyptus stalks in a willow patterned vase. </p>
<p>“He seemed to be managing well, Mother, the last time we spoke.”</p>
<p>“I haven’t seen him at services.”</p>
<p>“I know.”</p>
<p>Darlene hummed. “I hope it’s not because of his broken engagement.”</p>
<p>Sam didn’t want to tell her that was probably <i>exactly</i> why. “He may just be busy.”</p>
<p>“He’s still welcome to join us. I know it may become difficult for him to make amends with the Barneses, but it would be the honorable thing to do.”</p>
<p>“They haven’t claimed insult from him. Steve still has the contract to honor with Mr. Barnes in regard to his farm’s ability to turn a profit.”</p>
<p>“I fear for him and his security.”</p>
<p>“As do I. I love him like a brother, Mother, but he’s stubborn, and there’s no reasoning with him.”</p>
<p>“Says my youngest son who still won’t drop into my friend Emily’s parlor and introduce herself to her youngest unwed daughter, as I suggested?”</p>
<p>“I’m not ready to wed yet, Mother!” Sam sputtered. “And we’re talking about Steve Rogers, not my own unwed state!”</p>
<p>“No, we’re talking about the grandchildren you have yet to give me.”</p>
<p>Sam rolled his eyes. Darlene reached up and tweaked his ear. “I want to finish my studies, Mother, before I visit any drawing rooms.”</p>
<p>“You’ll be a much sought-after guest once you do, if you accept the invitations and stop making yourself so scarce.” Then, Darlene had a thought. “I haven’t seen much of James Barnes, either, now that I think of it. Not in his family’s pew, at any rate.”</p>
<p>Sam had noticed, too, and could only surmise that perhaps the two men wished to avoid each other, or the resulting unpleasantness of their interrupted wedding. “Perhaps he’s going to services at another parish.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps.”</p>
<p>Sam only hoped James wasn’t dealing with his own mother’s efforts at finding him a different, more enthusiastic marital prospect. He knew Steve was toiling away to save his family’s farm and estate, still refusing Sam’s help at every turn, but it had been some time since he’d visited him at the farm. He mentioned that his new manager was involving himself in the daily operations, learning everything from the bottom up. Billy, of course, sounded less than impressed, but that didn’t surprise Sam, having grown used to Billy’s stubbornness, too, and his continued insistence that they didn’t need any help. Sam remembered the look of bleak heartbreak on James’ face when Steve didn’t show up to the chapel. It still haunted him, but his arms also remembered the feel of Steve sobbing in his arms, wrecked over his decision to annul the arrangement.</p>
<p>How much had Steve’s cold feet cost him? Only time and chance would tell, certainly.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Steve boasted about his supply of jars and sufficient planning to Bucky, but then he ended up having to go into town, anyway, to drop off his delivery of herbs to the pharmacy. Steve cleared his throat against the slight tickle there, suddenly wishing for a cup of hot tea. He regretted not wearing his muffler, but it didn’t seem quite cold enough to need it.</p>
<p>Dr. Erskin’s daughter, Samantha, met him there with a warm smile. “Good afternoon. You’re looking well, Steve.”</p>
<p>“Good afternoon. And you’re looking so grown up!”</p>
<p>“I’m only a few years younger than you, silly man,” she argued, but she looked pleased. “Did you bring us more willow bark?”</p>
<p>“Of course.” Steve unloaded the sacks and bundles from his wagon seat and brought them inside, setting them on her counter in the back of the apothecary, where the chemist mixed tinctures and potions. “This shop has grown.”</p>
<p>“It’s done well, but everyone here misses your mother so much. And she was always so kind to me.”</p>
<p>“Thank you. I think of her every day.”</p>
<p>“You work so hard. We hardly ever see you anymore.”</p>
<p>“A man’s work is never done when he owns a farm,” he offered, and Steve cleared his throat again. It felt even scratchier when he tried to speak. Samantha’s brow furrowed, and she gave his arm a gentle pat.</p>
<p>“Would you like a lozenge? We made them with honey?”</p>
<p>“That sounds wonderful. Please.”</p>
<p>She went into the back to fetch them, and the chemist wiped his hands on a small towel and gathered the cash box. He opened it and paid Steve the money for the delivery, smiling at him.</p>
<p>“You’ve been one of our best suppliers.”</p>
<p>“We’re here for whatever you need.”</p>
<p>“Our shop has always enjoyed a strong relationship with your family’s farm. You Rogerses are fine people, Steve.” He glanced around and told Steve quietly, “Despite the opinions of some.”</p>
<p>Steve’s brow beetled and his smile dropped.</p>
<p>“You have to understand that tongues wag about things they shouldn’t, but your wedding… it was unexpected.”</p>
<p>“I know that. I sometimes wish that… this isn’t something I feel I need to explain.”</p>
<p>“No, no! No need to explain. Grooms occasionally get cold feet. My only regret is that you missed a beautiful ceremony. The beginning of it, anyway.”</p>
<p>“Oh, Steve, it was lovely!” Samantha chimed in. “The flowers! The music. The groom’s sister, Rebecca, had such a sweet voice.”</p>
<p>“Oh. I didn’t realize you both had been invited?”</p>
<p>“George Barnes. He had an invitation delivered here. We enjoy a strong working relationship with his company, as well. You can certainly understand.”</p>
<p>“Of course.”</p>
<p>Then, Steve had a strange feeling of deja vu sweep over him. “You said the groom’s sister?”</p>
<p>“Yes. Rebecca. Lovely girl. George used to bring her into the shop sometimes when she was just a young, dimpled, freckled thing.”</p>
<p>“We call her Becca,” Samantha explained.</p>
<p>Where had Steve heard that nickname before?</p>
<p>He dismissed it and bade them goodbye before returning home. By the time he unhitched his wagon and stabled his horses, Bucky had left.</p>
<p>“Barton said he was needed elsewhere. Mentioned the Guthrie farm.” Billy chuckled dryly. “Can’t trust that one even to make jam.”</p>
<p>“Then, don’t let him run his cousin’s confectionery shop,” Steve suggested before he coughed. “Ugh,” he muttered. He spat out a dime-sized wad of phlegm into the dirt.</p>
<p>Billy frowned. “You’d better not be growing ill on me, Rogers. Not when we’ve so much harvesting and canning to finish.”</p>
<p>“Some hot tea, and I’ll be fit by morning,” Steve promised.</p>
<p>That claim would have held more water if Steve had actually stoked the fire in his stove, bundled himself more adequately, and piled under the covers shortly after finishing supper. Instead, he stayed awake, painting a new canvas, a rough, slightly abstract study of a young man writing at a ledger by a sunny window. The image of Bucky in his mind’s eye remained there as his brush stroked over his penciled lines. Steve toiled at it for several hours, unable to put it down until he realized dawn’s approach wasn’t as far away as he would have liked.</p>
<p>Once he cleaned his brushes and put away his paints, Steve noticed his old book of children’s stories on the shelf. He smiled and opened the old, cracked spine to where he had it marked with a folded letter that had yellowed with age, its words written in a child’s rough print.</p>
<p>“Can we be friends?” Steve murmured. </p>
<p>Steve missed that young boy in the courtyard, before his father drove him away in a fine carriage, before Steve could accept his offer.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Sweet, Sweet Delirium</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bucky shows Steve the true meaning of “in sickness and in health” while still hiding his identity.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I’m sorry. I can never resist some good ol’ fashioned hurt/comfort.</p>
<p>Yeah. I’m sorry…</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve woke to find Billy in his kitchen, already dressed and preparing breakfast.</p>
<p>“Billy. You don’t have to do that, I’m sorry-” Steve’s words cut off on a yawn. Billy looked amused at Steve’s tousled state and his rumpled nightshirt. But he didn’t like the dark circles under his eyes or the croakiness of his voice.</p>
<p>“You sound all scratchy.”</p>
<p>“Nnngh…” He scrubbed his face with the heel of his hand. “Please tell me we have tea.”</p>
<p>“You tell me.” Billy rummaged through Steve’s cupboards and found his tea jar. “There’s still some in here.” Billy sniffed it. “Smells like lemongrass and eucalyptus.”</p>
<p>“Perfect.” That sounded like just the thing to soothe his throat. “I know I have some willow bark around, too.”</p>
<p>“Willow? That sounds like you aren’t well, Steve. Please tell me you’re well?”</p>
<p>“I’ll manage, Billy. We have a lot to do.”</p>
<p>Billy didn’t look convinced. “Sit down, then. Let’s get some food and tea into you and do the milking. Go, wash up and bundle yourself, Steve. Cover those birdy legs of yours.”</p>
<p>Steve gave him an indignant look but obeyed while Billy fried the eggs and sliced some bread. He hated to be found unprepared for the day more than being caught ungroomed. Billy had certainly seen him look worse, but Steve hated to waste valuable harvesting time. He washed up at his basin, using a small stub of soap and a muslin rag, made a halfhearted effort at brushing his hair, and dressed in warm layers of work clothes.</p>
<p>The longer Steve was awake, the more he noticed his runny nose and the scratchiness in his throat. He kept swiping at his nose as he ate the hot breakfast Billy set before him. At least his appetite was decent. Billy smiled at him as made the tea, adding willow bark to it and letting it steep.</p>
<p>“Let’s patch you together and move along, then.”</p>
<p>“I should have climbed into bed earlier,” Steve admitted. “I wanted to work on a painting, and it carried me away.”</p>
<p>“It boggles my mind that you still have energy to put brush to canvas after a day of work out here, Steve.”</p>
<p>“Art doesn’t stop for sleep. The painting would have invaded my dreams if I didn’t heed its call.”</p>
<p>Billy tsked. “You still sound all scratchy. Drink this. Put in lots of honey, too.” </p>
<p>They finished breakfast and set the dishes aside before stomping outside into the frosty morning. <i>Gorgeous</i>. The sunrise threw furious, rich streaks of orange-gold and scarlet across the sky. Frost sparkled on the grass and leaves across the yard. Steve’s breath caught; it hit him, then. This was his. This was his mother’s legacy and his inheritance, <i>his</i> responsibility, not merely a deed to be signed away to George Barnes. If he failed - no. No, he couldn’t. Not for Billy’s sake, nor for his own. Other businesses relied on the goods that he grew and sold, and Steve felt a sense of belonging in his community. He had nowhere to go if he lost the farm.</p>
<p>And it wasn’t as though he could just summon another convenient marriage prospect out of thin air.</p>
<p>“Sometimes, I wish you had said ‘I do’ to that Barnes fellow, after all.”</p>
<p>Billy’s words jerked Steve from his reveries as they entered the barn. “What’s that?”</p>
<p>“Could have been living like a toff, married to him,” Billy explained. “Especially if he has money like Barton.”</p>
<p>“Like Bucky?” Steve scoffed, brow furrowed. “Who knows how much money that would have even been? And who knows how it would have been, married to my landlord’s son!”</p>
<p>“Easier, no doubt.”</p>
<p>“You sound foolish, when you assume that, Billy. I have had the time to think about it. George Barnes offered me that contract when I was afraid, and desperate. He is a very shrewd, wily man to have done that.”</p>
<p>Billy made a sound of agreement as they moved their stools into the stalls and gathered pails. Steve warmed his hands and began to milk Bertie.</p>
<p>“One wonders what kind of man just wants to marry his son off like that, anyway, with the groom  unseen.”</p>
<p>“We missed our introduction. It was all so rushed,” Steve said.</p>
<p>“You couldn’t have delayed it?”</p>
<p>“He set the terms and paid for the church, the flowers. I am just grateful that he didn’t claim insult.”</p>
<p>“Instead, he claimed your farm. Much better, that.”</p>
<p>“Damn it, Billy.”</p>
<p>“Sorry, Steve. Sorry.”</p>
<p>“No, no. It’s… you’re right. You’re right.”</p>
<p>“Come. Let’s get this done.”</p>
<p>They went about the chores, slopping the hogs, feeding the fowl, gathering eggs, and Steve plowed the back field so that he and Billy could clear it of weeds.</p>
<p>Steve sniffled and cleared his throat over and over, unable to ignore the urge. They remained busy, but feeling less than tip-top made the day seem long.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Billy kidded him a few more times about “We need to find you another rich toff’s son” by the time the sun set through the trees, and Steve fixed himself another cup of tea with their simple supper. He coughed as he cut up potatoes for stew.</p>
<p>“You sound wretched, Steve.”</p>
<p>“I know that.”</p>
<p>“Here, then. Let me finish that up.”</p>
<p>He shooed Steve away from the stove and pushed him into a chair, watching him as he continued chopping vegetables.</p>
<p>“The honey feels like it helps.”</p>
<p>“Then, put some into that cup, too.”</p>
<p>“Have you heard from Teddy?”</p>
<p>Billy failed to hide his smile. “Not so much, when we have been so busy.”</p>
<p>“But, you’d like to?”</p>
<p>Billy chuckled, rubbing the dark curls at his nape. “Quit it, Steve.”</p>
<p>“You like him. Spend some time in his parlor, or go on a walk with him.”</p>
<p>“Why? Are you trying to marry <i>me</i> off, now?”</p>
<p>“You’re not a horse that I have to lead to water, Billy. You’re already thirsty enough; all you have to do is take a drink.”</p>
<p>“‘All you have to do is take a drink,’” Billy mimicked, and he rolled his eyes at his longtime friend. “Listen to yourself.”</p>
<p>“Bashful?”</p>
<p>“No.” But he averted his eyes and flushed to the roots of his hair. </p>
<p>“Of course you are, Billy, look at you! I see you! You can’t hide from me, you <i>are</i> bashful, and anyone can see how you two are around each other.”</p>
<p>“No less than anyone can see how you are around Barton.”</p>
<p>.Steve huffed, waving him off, but Billy grinned when he saw the color rising in Steve’s cheeks.</p>
<p>“You’re turning red as a beet, you bastard!”</p>
<p>“Billy, quit it!”</p>
<p>“No! You don’t like turnabout much, even when it’s fair play, Steve. Barton stares at you like a puppy, and I see you look at him, when <i>he’s</i> not looking, like he hung the stars in the sky.” Billy chuckled as he took care of the dishes. “Maybe it’s just as well you didn’t marry George Barnes’ son, when you’ve got eyes for Clint’s fancy cousin.”</p>
<p>“Don’t be daft, Billy. I feel nothing of the sort! It’s… it’s <i>Bucky</i>. You said it yourself, he’s too fancy. Granted, he’s a fast study at some things, and he has a head for numbers, but when he first came here, it was a catastrophe!”</p>
<p>“Guess I could have told him that the gutter was loose before sending him up there to clean it. It <i>was</i> when he kicked the ladder out from under himself when it pitched him backward, and you went out there and bellowed like someone scalded you when you caught him just dangling from the edge of the roof!” Billy cackled, and his eyes shone with mirth as he wiped their corners.</p>
<p>“He’s lucky he didn’t hurt himself, no thanks to you.”</p>
<p>“He’s still in one piece,” Billy said, shrugging. “And he’s learning, Steve, you just called him a quick study.”</p>
<p>“Hanging on for dear life from my roof and risking life and limb for the sake of the gutters isn’t how I planned to teach him, Billy. Look at you. You laugh, like a man who hasn’t a remorseful bone in his body.”</p>
<p>Billy sniggered and waved Steve off.</p>
<p>“And the point isn’t to teach him how to be a simple farm hand,” Steve added. </p>
<p>That calmed Billy’s laughter. “No. He’s here to help Mr. Barnes run us off this land even <i>faster,</i> more likely. Maybe he just plans to give the entire property to his son on a silver platter, whether you wed him or not.”</p>
<p>Steve paled. He rose from the kitchen table and stomped outside, slamming the door after himself.</p>
<p>“Steve… wait. <i>Steve.</i> Please, I’m <i>sorry.</i> Come back here!”</p>
<p>Because some part of Steve worried about that very thing. Every time they came up a bit short on their sales of goods in one column of the farm’s ledger, Steve lost a bit of sleep and felt icy dread seep into his chest.</p>
<p>“You’ve given me more of your opinion than I asked for, Billy.”</p>
<p>“Steve…”</p>
<p>“Don’t. Just don’t.”</p>
<p>Steve gathered up unsplit timbers from the stacks of wood and brought them to the chopping stump. Steve lined one up and split it perfectly with his father’s ax. He took the next and cleaved it into halves, and then fourths. Without asking for permission, Billy began to stack the neat logs.</p>
<p>“We have to make plans for if we lose the farm, Steve.”</p>
<p>“We won’t lose the farm, because we <i>can’t.</i> We just - no, <i>I</i> just have to work harder.”</p>
<p>“You work hard enough!” Billy cried. “Damn it, Steve, we both do, but this farm is so much work for just the two of us! At least the Rasputins have cousins who help, and the Guthries are as much a mob as they are a family, they have enough hands to make light work -”</p>
<p>“Can we help what we’re given, Billy?” Steve continued to split logs. “Let me know if you need to quit. I won’t hold it against you.” Steve reached for another large piece, but Billy jerked it from his arms and threw it aside.</p>
<p>His eyes were blazing with the beginnings of tears.</p>
<p>“Don’t you <i>dare</i>.”</p>
<p>“You don’t have to-”</p>
<p>“Yes, I do. You can’t tell me what I don’t have to do, Steve. I’m in this with you, through sunshine and rain, do you hear me? I’m your friend. You’re like - like, my <i>brother</i>, even if I already have one. You won’t cast me aside, and we <i>won’t fail.</i>”</p>
<p>Steve reached out to him, but Billy kicked the short stack of logs aside in a furious tumble. With that, he went back inside the house to finish washing up. Steve’s stomach clenched when he heard Billy’s raspy, harsh breathing through the window, punctuated by rough sniffles. “Damn it,” Steve muttered. Shame washed over him in hot prickles.</p>
<p>Steve went back to chopping the firewood, and he stacked it all himself. Billy went out to the yard and checked on the hens, making sure they all made it back into the coop for the night. He knew that he wasn’t the only one who would be hurt by his failure.</p>
<p>Bucky had some good ideas, and Steve knew it might be time for him to start listening to them. Yet it was so hard, putting his trust in a man he was only beginning to know.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Steve’s sleep was broken and plagued by aches and pains that he blamed on a hard day’s work. He woke up sweaty and chilled, coughing and spitting out some phlegm when he got up to wash his face and rinse out his mouth. He sat up for a bit and considered his painting. He smiled at the contours and shading that brought the Bucky-like figure more and more to life on the canvas. How many times had Steve watched sunlight play over Bucky’s skin, bringing out golden glints in his hair and making those eyes of his so luminous? How strange to be so taken with someone that Steve considered a nuisance so much of the time, even on the best of days? </p>
<p>Yet, he looked forward to his arrival every time he drove into the yard in his cousin’s old wagon. Steve would know the sounds of his steps at his threshold, entering his kitchen even while blindfolded. That slow-spreading smile that brought out his dimples and charming little crinkles around his eyes was something Steve longed to capture in charcoal or pencil one day, but it felt like a foolish notion; surely, Bucky would never agree to such a thing if Steve asked.</p>
<p>Steve read a bit from his old story book. “The Red Shoes” with its lessons about putting work before pleasure resonated with him, but Steve wondered, as he read it, if Bucky danced. He had the air of culture about him, not just as an educated man, but as someone who was accustomed to quality and opportunity. Perhaps he could afford to put pleasure first. George Barnes no doubt paid him a generous salary; Bucky Barton didn’t look like a man who had ever gone to sleep hungry.</p>
<p>Steve went back to bed, chilled by the night air, and this time, he slept a little more comfortably, but he still didn’t wake up feeling rested.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Over the next two days, Bucky noticed the difference in Steve. He heard him coughing in the hen house as they gathered the eggs.</p>
<p>“You sound terrible, Stevie.”</p>
<p>“All I need is some hot soup, and I will be fit again in no time.”</p>
<p>“When do you plan to actually sit down and have some?” Bucky accused.</p>
<p>“You sound like Billy,” Steve complained.</p>
<p>“Don’t insult me so,” Bucky joked, and Billy smiled and nodded, but he also watched Steve with concern. He was still coughing and clearing his throat, and the latter sounded like it took him more effort than usual. His cheeks were flushed and he was sweating considerably, even though the air was still brisk and windy. Bucky frowned when Steve turned away from him and back to his task. Steve waited until he was outside to spit out the gout of mucus he coughed up onto the dirt.</p>
<p>“Just what he needs right now,” Billy muttered.</p>
<p>“Could we hire some help?” Bucky asked. “Even if only for a while?”</p>
<p>“Steve wouldn’t hear of it, and with what, may I ask? With what funds? We’re skimping by as it is!” He waved in the general direction of the yard. “Look, the turkey trough’s running with diamonds! And I’ll just peel off some of the roof shingles, they’re made of solid gold! Won’t we be all set, then!”</p>
<p>Bucky sighed. “Well, I dreamt that the sky rained down silver coins last night. Perhaps if I close my eyes again, they will return, spread all over the yard.” </p>
<p>Billy snorted. Bucky shrugged at him and decided to slop the pigs.</p>
<p>Bucky went over the ledger later that afternoon, looking for unaccounted for money in each columns, wondering where they could move things around to afford some hired hands. But, as Billy claimed, Bucky’s numbers confirmed. There was no way to manage it unless he used some of his own allowance and hired them himself. Which meant that his ruse wouldn’t hold water, and he would break his contract with Father. He was already breaking it, certainly, spending time with Steve at all. “Bucky Barton” was an educated man of questionable means; James Barnes was the son of a successful businessman, his family was well known in the community, and tongues would wag if anyone realized that the two men were one and the same.</p>
<p>He set it aside just as Steve entered the room. “How are we looking?”</p>
<p>“Lean, I’m afraid.”</p>
<p>“Yet, you’re still here. Am I not enough of a lost cause for you to give up and disappear?”</p>
<p>“You were never a lost cause, Steve, but you give me too little credit if you think me the sort to give up-” Bucky almost said “on you.” He managed, “On your farm.”</p>
<p>“I suppose I <i>do</i> give you too little credit. You’re still no cook, however, if that jam was any proof.”</p>
<p>“You don’t need me for my cooking.”</p>
<p>Steve chuckled, but it turned into a cough. Bucky reached out and grasped his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. Steve felt so solid and warm, with muscles carved from daily hard work, but his features looked strained. His eyes were red-rimmed and tired, worrying Bucky. “Not unless I need you to kill me.”</p>
<p>“Stop that, Stevie.”</p>
<p>Bucky made lists of supplies that the farm needed, as well as items that Steve could use around the house. He didn’t have to divulge his plans to Steve or to Billy. He could simply replace the nearly empty kerosene can with a full one, and if the sack of flour replenished itself overnight, well, that hardly needed explaining, did it?</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When the sun set, Bucky went inside to tell Steve he would be back in the morning, but he found him sprawled back in his chair, his stocking feet propped up on the hassock. He was snoring, mouth slightly agape, chest rising and falling evenly and his face tipped to the side. Bucky felt a wave of protectiveness and affection wash over him at the sight. Of <i>course</i> he was worn out. Bucky didn’t like seeing him uncovered, still only wearing his work clothes but no jacket. He ducked back into the corridor of the house and found a narrow closet, and Bucky smiled when he saw the folded quilt inside. He tread quietly back into the sitting room and gently draped the quilt over Steve and tucked it around him. Billy was still outside packing up his own wagon, and Bucky didn’t resist the urge to stroke his hair. Steve smacked his lips in his sleep and leaned into Bucky’s touch, making Bucky snatch his hand away. He wondered for a moment when the last time was that Steve received any casual affection. </p>
<p>“Good night, Stevie,” Bucky murmured as he backed out of the room and let the kitchen door click shut behind him.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Steve woke up some time later, alone in the dark. Billy left the lantern lit for him, and Steve realized he needed to build himself a fire in the stove to stay warm for the night. The lantern threw a golden, faint glow over his furnishings and Sarah’s old knick-knacks. Steve sighed; this was what he stood to lose if he couldn’t make his farm turn a profit. He couldn’t stomach the thought of selling off any of his family’s heirlooms just to survive. Not when it was all he had left of his parents.</p>
<p>The feeling of the quilt’s warmth and weight around him stirred him from his dark thoughts. Someone had covered him up. Billy?</p>
<p>Bucky?</p>
<p>The mere thought of it made him blush. Then, Steve smiled.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the morning, Bucky arrived, but the only lantern lit shone through the kitchen window. Bucky hitched his wagon and headed inside, where he found Billy looked distressed, and instantly, he felt dread bloom in his chest.</p>
<p>“What’s wrong? Where’s Steve?”</p>
<p>“He’s not well. You know he’s usually up by now,” Billy told him. </p>
<p>“Blast,” Bucky muttered. There was no scent of coffee or tea, no cooking smells, and the outdoor lanterns weren’t lit. None of the chores had been started, and Bucky heard the cows inside the barn lowing and mooing. “You know he’s not well?”</p>
<p>“He’s not getting up from bed,” Billy explained, as though Bucky was a child of five. “Do you think he is in a sound state of health?”</p>
<p>Bucky felt panic flare in his chest, and he glared at Billy before he rushed into the corridor. “Steve?!” he called out. “STEVIE!” And his eyes flitted about, looking for a bedroom, but there was only a suite on the first floor that lay empty, filled with old, dusty furnishings. Bucky found the stairwell and bolted up to the second floor, following the sounds of hacking and coughing. The recoil of Steve’s inhaled breath sounded labored and coarse. “Stevie,” Bucky cried as he barged his way into the smaller bedroom. Bucky found him huddled in the brass-framed bed, leaning over the edge as he swiped at his mouth with a handkerchief.</p>
<p> His complexion was pale and he had darker circles under his eyes than he had the day before. Steve’s skin gleamed with a clammy sheen, and his blond hair looked dark with sweat and was plastered to his brow. “Stevie…” Bucky sat on the edge of the bed, worried and fretful as he listened to Steve cough and gasp.</p>
<p>“You look dreadful.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Well, that’s hardly surprising, Bucky. I <i>feel</i> dreadful. Leave it to you to be-” Steve gagged and coughed, and he hacked up more mucus. Bucky handed him a nearby basin to spit into and rubbed his back through the covers.</p>
<p>“What do you need me to do?”</p>
<p>“Nothing, Bucky. I just need some tea, and in a while, I can… get…”</p>
<p>“No, you can’t. You can’t, Stevie. You need medicine, and rest. Do you need me to have a physician come?”</p>
<p>“Don’t be ridiculous,” Steve rasped, and he smiled mirthlessly at Bucky. His eyes were watery and luminous in the weak light of the room. “I can’t afford a visit from the doctor. I have tea in the house, and some of the herbs that my mother used to use whenever I fell ill as a child.”</p>
<p>“Herbs. Stevie, you may need more than that!”</p>
<p>“I told you, Bucky, I cannot afford a visit from the doctor, and I will start the day soon.” Yet Steve remained tucked in bed and rolled over to his other side, giving Bucky his back.</p>
<p>“You call <i>me</i> ridiculous. You will stay in this bed.”</p>
<p>“Not while there are fields that need plowing…”</p>
<p>“Damn the plow, Steve. You are staying in this bed, even if I have to see to it, myself.”</p>
<p>Steve rolled back and faced him, amusement and annoyance mingling across his features. “Even if you have to ‘see to it?’”</p>
<p>“I’m going to bring you up your tea, Stevie, and fix you something to eat.”</p>
<p>“Oh, good Lord in heaven…”</p>
<p>“Or, Billy. Perhaps <i>he</i> can prepare you some food, if you like. But I can manage the tea. You, however, are staying in this bed.”</p>
<p>“No, I am going to dress and wash up-”</p>
<p>“No.” Bucky’s voice was firm and insistent, and he gave Steve a stern look. Steve huffed in amusement. When he tried to throw aside the covers, Bucky gave his chest a little shove. “I said, <i>no</i>.” Steve looked surprised at his vehemence and his strength as he found that he had to fight Bucky’s repeated, firm shove.</p>
<p>“Those smooth hands of yours won’t be able to keep me here in bed. Nor your smooth words.”</p>
<p>“Your chest sounds like a smith’s bellows,” Bucky told him. “You’re pale, coughing, and look a terrible sight.”</p>
<p>“I don’t have to look handsome to take care of my farm.”</p>
<p>“Your farm will have to take care of itself without you. Billy and I will manage for today.”</p>
<p>“Bollocks,” Billy interjected from the doorway as he brought Steve a cup of tea and a slice of bread spread thickly with jam. “I can manage. I’ll do what I can, Steve. Bucky, just move along, now. Steve doesn’t need you to be a pretty, fancy nuisance-”</p>
<p>“Fancy,” Bucky spat. He rose from the bed and rounded on Billy. “Give me that. Go. Get out.” He took the cup and snatched the plate from his hands, and color rose up into Bucky’s cheeks. His jaw was set at a mulish tilt, and Billy huffed at Bucky’s angry stance and the tightness around his mouth, the anger flashing in his eyes. “Steve isn’t leaving this bed, and my patience has grown thin with your claims of how useless I am, Billy Kaplan. There’s a field that needs plowing. Deal with that however you like.”</p>
<p>“You can’t tell me what to do!”</p>
<p>“Oh, but I can. Just ask my employer. I’m here to manage the ongoing operation of this farm and estate.”</p>
<p>“Manage it,” Billy hissed. “Pretty-faced eejit. Wasting our time. Fine, then. Stay here. <i>Watch him.</i>” He nodded to Steve, who was watching the two of them warily from the bed, sitting up and reaching for the tea.</p>
<p>“Billy,” Steve pleaded, but Billy turned on his heel and thundered downstairs. Steve and Bucky took the sight of him, anger flashing in those dark blue eyes, chest thrown out like a rooster and fists clenched, to keep, letting it linger between them as they stared each other down.</p>
<p>“Don’t make this difficult, Steve.”</p>
<p>“There’s nothing difficult about me finishing my tea and breakfast, washing up, and going down those stairs once I get my bearings, Bucky. Just you wait.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Minutes later, Bucky heard Steve retching and coughing from downstairs as he washed the breakfast dishes. “Just you wait,” Bucky murmured, shaking his head. He dashed upstairs with a clean towel, and when he reached Steve, he found him shaking, sweating, and the basin filled with sick.</p>
<p>“Damn it, Stevie…”</p>
<p>“Didn’t expect it all to come back up…”</p>
<p>“You’re burning up…” Bucky hurried to him and gently peeled back the heaviest top quilt, and then folded the rest of the covers down around Steve’s waist.</p>
<p>“No, Bucky, no, please don’t,” Steve insisted. “I’m cold, I’m so chilled…”</p>
<p>“I know what it looks like when my sister has a fever,” Bucky argued, but his voice was gentle. “You can’t stay overbundled. We need to cool you down, Steve.”</p>
<p>Steve’s teeth chattered, and he moaned in protest as Bucky dampened the towel from the pitcher of water at the bedside and swabbed at Steve’s face and neck.</p>
<p>“Stop babying me. I can take care of myself.”</p>
<p>“This is one time when I hope to convince you that you don’t have to, Steve.”</p>
<p>Steve shook his head, and his eyes, already watery, glistened up at Bucky. He coughed into his sleeve and then laid back as Bucky continued to wipe at his damp hair. “You don’t have to do this.”</p>
<p>“Managing the farm isn’t just about reconciling your ledger, Steve.”</p>
<p>Steve scoffed. “What are you implying, Bucky?”</p>
<p>“Keeping you here in bed shouldn’t be much more difficult than chasing the turkeys off of the roof, should it? I’m here to manage the farm, but perhaps you’re the most vital part of it.”</p>
<p>Steve huffed, and the corner of his mouth fought the first tugs of a smile. “You just compared me to one of my turkeys. Don’t expect me to thank you for it.”</p>
<p>“When have I expected thanks since I’ve been here? Let me clean you up. Damn it, you feel too hot. I’m sorry, but these covers will have to come off.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The rest of the morning dragged by, filled with bickering and Bucky pacing the floors, making frequent trips into the corridor and downstairs to the kitchen. He fixed Steve some tea with willow bark in an attempt to bring down his fever, wrestled him out of his night clothes, and swabbed him down with more damp, cool cloths and witch hazel. Steve’s skin was flushed and clammy, and the sight of him clad in just his breeches made Bucky’s gut clench. Bucky normally appreciated Steve’s rugged handsomeness, but the reality of him like this was intimate and strange, wholly awkward, and that Bucky was in this small, confined space with that man he nearly <i>married</i>. Yet, staring down at him, fretting over him, brought with it the realization that <i>Bucky couldn’t afford to fail Steven Rogers</i> at any cost.</p>
<p>Billy worked outside, plowing the field and digging potatoes. Bucky felt guilty that he had to work alone, but he knew Billy was just as torn with the need to see to Steve’s needs and completing the daily chores so they didn’t fall behind.</p>
<p>“Sit up, Steve. I have a fresh shirt.”</p>
<p>“Hurry up with it. I’m too cold, Bucky, I’m too damned cold!”</p>
<p>Steve’s teeth were still chattering, and Bucky reached for him, tugging Steve upright by his arms. He quickly brought the shirt around him, and Steve trembled and shivered while Bucky fed his arms in through the sleeves; he rubbed his back soothingly and fretted to himself, <i>He’s still too damned hot.</i> His breathing was still ragged, and sitting up made him cough more. Bucky emptied Steve’s basin again after helping him rinse out his mouth. “I hate this,” Steve rasped.</p>
<p>“What? Being ill? You can’t help that.”</p>
<p>“No. This. Being… up here, when you and Billy… Bucky, you shouldn’t have to do this.”</p>
<p>“Take care of you?” Bucky chuckled and ruffled Steve’s hair. “What else was I going to do today? Ruin some more jam? Fall off the roof? Get kicked by one of the cows?”</p>
<p>Steve snorted. Bucky fluffed his pillows and had Steve lie back, and he covered him with the sheet and the lightest blanket, only up to his chest. </p>
<p>“I’m here, because I want to be here, Steve.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bucky continued to watch him, helping him down to the outhouse when he needed to relieve himself, stoking up the fire in the stove to keep the house warm enough for Steve not to need to bundle himself so much, and boiling some leftover roast for broth. Billy noticed what he was doing and took over that task, cutting up some potatoes and onions and adding some herbs to the pot.</p>
<p>“It would be nice if it was at least edible,” Billy told him.</p>
<p>“Wouldn’t it, now?”</p>
<p>But there was no heat in Bucky’s voice. He put the soiled towels in the wash tub and filled it with fresh water, making generous use of Steve’s lye soap and the washboard.</p>
<p>“You’re actually good at that.”</p>
<p>“I watched the servants often enough.”</p>
<p>“Servants. What a life you live.”</p>
<p>“I grew up having them. But, I live on my own, now. I can do for myself.”</p>
<p>“Sure you can, Fancy Pants.” But Billy took the damp items from the washtub and hung them on the line for Bucky, helping just as quickly as he offered criticism. Bucky realized that Billy was just as worried for Steve’s health.</p>
<p>“Has he ever been like this before?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. At least once a year. More often than that, when he was small. That was why his ma worked in the apothecary. She learned the best way to care for him from them. Mrs. Rogers knew the proper herbs and tinctures and poultices, she had a true gift.” Billy nodded to a framed daguerrotype of a young woman that hung on the wall. She was no older than eighteen, and she held a baby in a flowing, ruffled christening gown on her lap. “And she was lovely.”</p>
<p>Sarah Rogers. Blonde, petite, and with eyes like Steve’s. Her smile brought out dimples in her cheeks. She radiated kindness and graciousness, and Bucky wished he could have known her.</p>
<p>“She’s been gone long?”</p>
<p>“Steve lost her when he was sixteen.”</p>
<p>It wasn’t unheard of for a young man of that age to start off their adult life of independence at that age, surely, but it should have involved moving away from home to go to university, or to find employment and his own bachelor’s flat. Steve’s life took a tragic turn when the responsibility for the entire farm was thrust upon him right on the heels of losing his mother.</p>
<p>“Steve doesn’t like asking for help. Never has,” Billy went on to explain. “Makes him uneasy. And like less of a man.”</p>
<p>“You will never convince me that anyone thinks of Steve as ‘less of a man’ under any circumstance. I can’t imagine that he would let anyone linger under that delusion.”</p>
<p>“You sound like you would defend him.”</p>
<p>“In a second. Every time.”</p>
<p>“You haven’t even known him that long,” Billy mused, but when Bucky looked up from stirring the broth, he saw Billy’s soft smile.</p>
<p>“This didn’t take long, Billy.”</p>
<p>“What didn’t?”</p>
<p>“Feeling this way.” Bucky tore up a few leaves of thyme and threw them into the broth. “About Steve.”</p>
<p>They shared a pointed look, and Billy chuckled as he headed back outside.</p>
<p>“Knew that anyway about you two. You’re both absolute eejits.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bucky brought more pillows into Steve’s room, borrowing them from Sarah’s old room, and he propped and rearranged him in bed. Steve grumbled up at him at the annoying intervention and being shifted once he had finally gotten comfortable, but Bucky retucked his blankets and fought the urge to smooth back his hair.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to hover over me, Bucky.”</p>
<p>“Sorry. I’m sorry, Steve. I will let you rest for a while; try to sleep if you can.”</p>
<p>Bucky straightened up the room, removing Steve’s soiled laundry and dirty dishes once more, refilling his water pitcher and pulling the door closed behind him. The sun was lower in the sky, and Bucky realized that they lost most of the day. He knew Steve was fretting about it, and Bucky pondered how to ease his worries.</p>
<p>He left the farm a few minutes later, calling out to Billy, who was gathering the last of the apples. </p>
<p>“I’m leaving now, Billy! I have an errand in town.”</p>
<p>“Guess I’ll keep an eye on him while you run off,” Billy called back as he descended the ladder. But he knew Billy wasn’t being hostile. He was just worried and tired.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Bucky returned in the morning after a fretful night, and the ride over to Steve’s farm was anxious and cold. Bucky hoped that Billy stoked up the fire before he left, but when he arrived, he found Billy looking tousled and disheveled. He yawned and waved to Bucky as he fried some eggs.</p>
<p>“I never went home,” he said in lieu of hello.</p>
<p>Bucky sighed in relief. “Good.”</p>
<p>“There’s so much to do today…”</p>
<p>“And you’re going to have help.”</p>
<p>“What? From you?”</p>
<p>“In the house, but I mean the chores. I’ve managed to hire help for the day, or even the next few days if Steve is ailing that long.”</p>
<p>Billy made a disparaging sound. “We haven’t the money to hire anyone.”</p>
<p>“I do, and what’s the point in having it if I can’t bring in good help?”</p>
<p>“The point is, that doesn’t help us make a <i>profit</i> if we have to take those expenses out of what little we bring in.”</p>
<p>“It’s my money, from my own salary. You remember my employer, Mr. George Barnes? He pays a generous wage-”</p>
<p>“Does he?” Billy challenged. “You think you can convince me of that, when we are just barely getting by?”</p>
<p>Bucky almost rushed to defend his father, but he bit back that impulse and blew out a slow, calming breath to compose himself. “Billy. We will manage. I have found us some help. All you have to do is accept it.”</p>
<p>“They won’t know the farm, or how we do things around here.”</p>
<p>“Then, teach them.”</p>
<p>“If they end up just as fancy and addle-brained as you, then I’m out of luck.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bucky sighed as he climbed the stairs and checked on Steve. He found him sleeping peacefully and gently retucked his blankets around him. The scant sensation woke him, and he squinted up at Bucky in a manner that he found adorable. “Morning, already?”</p>
<p>“You must have rested.”</p>
<p>“Barely,” he yawned. “Coughed my throat raw.” His voice sounded all croaky, confirming this.</p>
<p>“Then, let me make you some tea.”</p>
<p>“Broth,” Steve argued. “I can’t stomach tea right now. I need something salty, if you don’t mind, Bucky. And the broth wasn’t too bad, yesterday.”</p>
<p>“See, Stevie? I didn’t poison you with my terrible cooking.”</p>
<p>“Not yet. But, this is a new day.”</p>
<p>“Are you feverish?”</p>
<p>“I’m not sure, but I ache all over, Bucky.”</p>
<p>Bucky frowned, and he reached down and felt the sides of Steve’s neck and laid a cool palm on his forehead. “You’re a bit too warm for my liking, Stevie.”</p>
<p>“No more cold cloths, Bucky, please…”</p>
<p>Bucky sighed. “We’re about to have another unpleasant day together, Stevie, and for that, I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The day dragged on much like the previous one had, but this time, they had entertainment in the form of Billy’s bickering with the hired help out in the yard as they carried on with the chores.</p>
<p>“Sounds like they’re getting on like newlyweds,” Steve joked. “You really should have spoken to me about hiring someone, Bucky, before you brought them here.”</p>
<p>“And you would have refused help, and Billy would have had to manage this by himself.”</p>
<p>“I should be downstairs so that he doesn’t have to.”</p>
<p>“Well, he doesn’t have to, now. And there we are.”</p>
<p>“Are you always this bossy?”</p>
<p>“I just like to have my way. Especially when I’m right.”</p>
<p>Steve’s expression was stubborn as Bucky helped him sit up and take more of the broth. “You must <i>always</i> think you’re right, then…”</p>
<p>Steve’s eyes were a bit glassy, and his breathing still sounded thick and wet. He only managed a few sips of the broth before another coughing fit made him bring it back up. Bucky rushed to get the basin into his hands and rubbed his broad back. Steve gasped as he sat back into the pillows, closing his eyes. “I hate this, Bucky.”</p>
<p>“I know you do, Stevie.” Bucky wiped his face with a clean towel. His touch was gentle as he smoothed back his hair.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“That Barnes fellow was mincing his words when he told us about this place. How have they managed it this long with only two people?” Hank, the new farm hand, asked his companion as they baled the hay in the loft.</p>
<p>“Hush,” Scott told him. “Remember, he wants us to call him Barton.”</p>
<p>“Barnes, Barton… it’s nearly the same. Why does he need a different identity? George Barnes’ name carries influence around here, so why hide it?”</p>
<p>“Why question the man who is paying us so generously to be here? If his son wants to go by Barton, then Barton it is.”</p>
<p>“Shush, now, there’s Billy.”</p>
<p>Billy came in and shoved the pitchfork at Scott. “Go ahead and muck out the stalls. Make yourself useful. I’ll be out in the field with the plow.”</p>
<p>“I suppose we can, after we finish our tea party,” Scott joked. Billy looked less than impressed.</p>
<p>“At least you aren’t as fancy as Barton,” he muttered before he left.</p>
<p>Hank and Scott exchanged amused looks.</p>
<p>“I’m not telling him,” Hank murmured. “Even though I don’t know why.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Steve occasionally drifted off to sleep, and almost every time, Bucky was there when he woke. Worry etched fine lines around his eyes and mouth, and he was always ready with compresses, medicine and tea. The direction of light flowing into the room seemed to shift every time Steve opened his eyes. When he stared up at Bucky, all of his edges appeared out of focus and softly blurred. Bucky helped him downstairs twice to the outhouse, bundling him up for the trip and then stripping him down again when he returned to bed, back to just breeches and his crumpled shirt. Steve’s legs were shaky, and Bucky supported him, letting Steve lean into his bulk. Billy’s eyes watched them with concern. Hank and Scott waved to them from the yard as they refilled water troughs and slopped the pigs.</p>
<p>Troublesome dreams made Steve mutter in his sleep.</p>
<p>“Not a baby,” Steve rasped as he burrowed back under the blankets.</p>
<p>“What, Steve?”</p>
<p>“Not. Baby. James. He said so.”</p>
<p>Bucky froze at the sound of his birth name.</p>
<p>“In his letter. Told me. Wants to be my friend…”</p>
<p>“You’re rambling, Steve. You still feel too hot. Let’s clean you up again.”</p>
<p>Steve rolled over and smiled up at him. “Bucky. What… pretty eyes.”</p>
<p>Bucky chuckled. He had glimpsed himself in the mirror and noticed how bloodshot they are from too little sleep. “You flatter me.”</p>
<p>“Pretty Bucky…”</p>
<p>“You sound ridiculous.”</p>
<p>“Pretty,” Steve insisted, and he reached up to pat Bucky’s cheek, something easily accomplished while Bucky sat on the edge of the bed, leaning over Steve as he unbuttoned his shirt. Bucky spread the shirt open and helped Steve out of it, and this time, Steve didn’t fight him, but he still shivered from the drafty air. Bucky could appreciate Steve’s masculine beauty, his sculpted muscles, the sprays of tiny freckles wherever the sun had tanned his skin, the long, tapered legs and narrow hips, the breadth of his shoulders that would fill out a proper suit so beautifully, if Steve ever had the opportunity to wear one. His eyes fluttered shut, and Bucky noticed the long, curling sandy lashes and the little furrow between his brows as he bathed him.</p>
<p>“Does this make us friends, Bucky?”</p>
<p>“This? One would hope so, Stevie.”</p>
<p>Friends.</p>
<p>Did one’s friend fight lustful thoughts while caring for them in their time of need? Bucky wished someone would justify it for him, but he would never ask the question out loud.</p>
<p>“I’d like us to be friends, Bucky.”</p>
<p>“Then, we are, Stevie.”</p>
<p>“I won’t be such a burden to you tomorrow.”</p>
<p>“You aren’t right now. Not in the least.” Bucky ran the damp cloth over Steve’s bare chest, over his ribcage and belly, smoothing it over his shoulders and arms. He dipped it into his water basin and wrung it out, swiping it over Steve brow and smoothing it over his sweaty hair.</p>
<p>Steve drifted back to sleep, waking for medicine and tea as the day wore on. And every time, Bucky was there, with his soft, gruff tone and gentle hands, and Steve felt safe, even while his strange dreams plagued him.</p>
<p>Sometimes, he saw Bucky. But then, the dream would shift, and he would find himself back in the schoolhouse, staring at James, the new boy, tall and lean, dressed in finer clothing than anyone else, with eyes like tourmalines.</p>
<p>Steve woke again, crabby and petulant. “Ache all over.”</p>
<p>“Your cough sounds looser,” Bucky told him.</p>
<p>“I still hate this. Hate being stuck in bed.”</p>
<p>The sun had already set, telling Steve he lost another day. Bucky scrubbed a hand down his face and sighed.</p>
<p>“You’re ailing.”</p>
<p>“I’m bored,” Steve argued.</p>
<p>Bucky huffed. “Well. What would help?”</p>
<p>“My head throbs too much to read.”</p>
<p>Bucky lit the lantern and skimmed through the books on Steve’s shelf. He smiled when he found a familiar one and pulled it down. “I had a copy of this one, once. I loved it.” He sat on the edge of the bed, twisting his body around to fold his leg up until his knee rested against Steve’s bulk. “Which story is your favorite?”</p>
<p>Steve laughed; it was a raspy sound. “Mother Hulda.”</p>
<p>“I don’t remember that one.”</p>
<p>“You will. Go ahead. Read that one, please.”</p>
<p>Bucky skimmed the table of contents and found that story, and he was surprised to find a folded piece of paper marking that very spot. He set it aside on the vanity and began to read. “A widow had two daughters; one was pretty and industrious, the other was ugly and lazy. And as the ugly one was her own daughter, she loved her much the best, and the pretty one was made to do all the work, and be the drudge of the house.”</p>
<p>Bucky read the story, musing to himself that it seemed vaguely familiar. Steve chuckled over his favorite parts, especially when Bucky changed his voice, making it higher as he read him the part about the bread crying out to be removed from the oven.</p>
<p>“I think Becca used to like this story,” Bucky remarked.</p>
<p>“Keep reading. Get to the good parts.”</p>
<p>Bucky snickered. Steve reached out and patted Bucky’s knee, urging him to continue. The contact made Bucky’s flesh prickle in all of the right ways. </p>
<p>Steve was soothed by Bucky’s deep voice rumbling through him and his warmth radiating toward him through the layers of blankets. Both men chuckled over the momentum of the story, of the widow’s natural daughter’s casual cruelty and laziness, knowing that the consequences were coming next, sticky and shameful. Bucky patted Steve’s hip through the blankets where Steve lay curled on his side, his body a C-shaped curve while he propped himself on one arm. Bucky’s storytelling was underscored by Steve’s occasional coughs and raspy breathing, but he appreciated the calm between them and their lingering closeness.</p>
<p>Bucky read him more of the stories until Steve dozed off, and Bucky realized Steve’s hand rested on his knee, gently clasping it in his sleep. Bucky clapped the book shut and set it down, and his eyes fell back on the folded paper. He was about to replace it where he found it, at the beginning of Mother Hulda, but curiosity got the best of him. He unfolded it and scanned the yellowed paper, eyes skimming over the childish, strange handwriting.</p>
<p>Suddenly, Bucky fell back through time, and his own claim that he made to his sister haunted him. He remembered the scratch of a pen and the scent of ink as he scrawled the note in his best print, once, away from prying eyes.</p>
<p>
  <i>That wasn’t the same person. It couldn’t have been. If you knew Steve Rogers, the man whose farm I’ve been breaking my back to save, you would never confuse him with that boy, Becca.</i>
</p>
<p>He was no longer towheaded, but had hair of dark, honey gold. Steve was tall, massively built, robust, no longer cherub-faced and tiny. When George Barnes moved them away, fresh from learning his parents had died, he sent Bucky away to Eton, away from his newfound friends and the younger, scrappy boy who seemed to find Bucky so intriguing, constantly stealing looks at him from across the school room. Bucky shook his head and wondered how fate had brought them full circle like this, and how it could be so fickle.</p>
<p>All he’d ever wanted was to befriend Steve, and to protect him, and now, he owned the burden of trying to manage his farm and save it from his father’s clutches and the bank, despite how it compromised his loyalty to Bucky’s own family.</p>
<p>Worse yet, he was feeling things for Steve, all while maintaining a ruse. </p>
<p>In an ideal world, Bucky should have been able to call on Steve following proper introductions. They should have attended balls and parlors and drawing rooms and chatted over cognac and canapes. They should have grown to know each other slowly, as prospective matches and no secrets between them. Bucky’s half-formed plan seemed to be running wild and out of his control.</p>
<p>His heart swelled at the sight of the man lying curled against Bucky’s hip, reaching for Bucky in sleep. “Damn it, Steve,” he whispered.</p>
<p>Oh, good Lord. Bucky had fallen in love with him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Civil Disobedience</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Is he really managing Steve’s farm, then?”</p>
<p>“Managing it? He practically lives there,” Clint said.</p>
<p>“Almost as if he wanted a second chance,” Scott mused.</p>
<p>“At what?”</p>
<p>“Marriage.”</p>
<p>“Or courtship,” Hank added.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The chapter title is a pun. Sort of. Sorry, I’m trash. Moving on…</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nicholas Fury nodded his thanks for Wanda as she brought him the cup of tea on a delicate saucer, bobbing a quick curtsy before she left the parlor. George filled his pipe, packing it with the expensive tobacco.</p>
<p>“You’re looking well, Nicholas.”</p>
<p>“Well enough, Mr. Barnes.”</p>
<p>“I’m eager to hear your report.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps as eager as I am to share it. Even if I was initially puzzled when you hired me to follow your son.”</p>
<p>George smiled, nodding as he lit the pipe. He blew a slow plume of smoke and leaned back into his chair. “He’s kept himself scarce these past few months. My daughter tells me precious little of his whereabouts or activities, perhaps out of sibling loyalty. Those two have always been thick as thieves.”</p>
<p>“Your son isn’t a thief, however. Yet you want me to investigate his activities.”</p>
<p>“His comings and goings,” George argued. “Because there are places I would rather he not go.”</p>
<p>“Then, my report should either please you immeasurably, or leave you most disappointed, sir.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Scott and Hank enjoyed their ales in the gaming room, glad to finish the long week of hard work and finally relax. They were chilled and they warmed their hands by the fire, occasionally finding themselves buffeted by the growing crowd. </p>
<p>“I shooed the turkey from the edge of the trough again.”</p>
<p>“Stupid beast is just waiting to fall in and drown when we aren’t looking,” Hank agreed, raising his glass to his friend. </p>
<p>“My back aches, but we finished what needed to be done today. That makes this ale taste even better.”</p>
<p>“I may need brandy to chase away the chill.”</p>
<p>“You claim to need brandy even when it isn’t cold outside.”</p>
<p>Clint wandered inside and hung up his coat on a rack near the door, loosening the knitted muffler around his neck. Scott beamed when he saw him, and he called out to him, waving him over to their table. “BARTON! CLINT! Come, sit with us and have a drink!”</p>
<p>Clint’s grin was puckish and eager as he approached, and Hank beckoned for him to sit in the last empty chair. “What trouble have you both been up to?”</p>
<p>“No trouble, merely honest work,” Hank explained. </p>
<p>“Now that, I find hard to believe, McCoy.”</p>
<p>“You wound me, Barton.”</p>
<p>“Barton, perhaps you would like to tell us more about your cousin over a brandy.” Scott grinned at Clint as he suggested this.</p>
<p>“My cousin? What on earth are you on about- oh.”</p>
<p>“Bucky Barton, one of your wealthy, well-connected relations that you haven’t mentioned until now,” Hank teased.</p>
<p>“Hush,” Clint scolded, and he glanced around the room, hoping that no one who recognized him was listening. “Why are you asking about Bucky?”</p>
<p>“Because he hired us to help on the Rogers farm while Steve was ailing,” Scott told him. “Steve was in a bad way, and you know he only has Billy to help him.”</p>
<p>“Because he’s damned stubborn, too stubborn and muleheaded to ask for help,” Hank added. “So his farm’s new manager took us on and paid us a rather generous wage. Billy wasn’t impressed, from what we gathered. Kept calling us ‘useless eejits’ and got his breeches all in a twist.”</p>
<p>“But we managed the last of the harvest and the autumn planting. Pruned the orchards. And we managed to put a new roof on the barn. Everything’s tip-top and in its place.”</p>
<p>Clint nodded and paid his server a shiny coin for the brandy when it arrived. </p>
<p>“So, Clint,” Scott pried, “why is James Barnes going by a different name?”</p>
<p>“Why <i>your</i> name?” Hank added.</p>
<p>“I don’t have the faintest idea why, but… for some reason, he doesn’t want Steve to know who he is, and given who he is, and what happened at the church, that may be for the best for now. And honestly, it’s none of our business. Not yours, not mine. And we need to keep James Barnes’ name out of our mouths.”</p>
<p>Scott leaned in, eyes dancing, and his smile was conspiratorial. “He was engaged to wed Steve, wasn’t he?”</p>
<p>“I attended the wedding,” Clint told him.</p>
<p>“The wedding that wasn’t.”</p>
<p>Clint made a sound of disgust. “Stop that. James was shattered that day. You didn’t see his face. He was stood at the altar, dressed in his wedding finery, and his groom never walked down the aisle. If you think that didn’t destroy him, then you have no soul.”</p>
<p>“Is he really managing Steve’s farm, then?”</p>
<p>“Managing it? He practically lives there,” Clint said.</p>
<p>“Almost as if he wanted a second chance,” Scott mused.</p>
<p>“At what?”</p>
<p>“Marriage.”</p>
<p>“Or courtship,” Hank added.</p>
<p>Clint laughed. “Courtship. All those two do is bicker. All I know is that I received the wedding invitation one day, after what had to be the shortest engagement possible, with no whiff of their past courtship, no news of either of them in each other’s parlors, no word from the matchmaker on how they suit. Yet, when I saw James at the altar, before we found out that he’d been abandoned, he looked… well. He looked <i>radiant</i>. Nervous and tongue-tied, but he was eager to be wed.”</p>
<p>“Maybe Rogers’ farm was meant to be his dowry,” Scott joked.</p>
<p>“Don’t be stupid, Scott.” Hank cuffed him in the shoulder.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>From a few feet away, Teddy Altman listened with avid interest, but glanced away when Clint caught his eye. The men’s conversation was held in low tones, barely audible over the noise and chatter of the gaming room. Teddy went back to his game of whist with his friends, but his interest was piqued as soon as he heard Billy’s name mentioned. He craved the chance to see him again, as their time together was always scarce, and precious. Billy worked so hard and had no time for leisure, and Teddy often only saw him at the farmer’s market helping Steve to sell their wares. </p>
<p>Teddy knew George Barnes from word of mouth. His family’s farm wasn’t associated with George’s holdings, but he knew from the local gossip that Rebecca Barnes was having her first Season in the spring. And who <i>hadn’t</i> heard about James Barnes, young graduate from Pembroke and George’s only heir, a very eligible catch on the marriage market, whose groom abandoned him on the morning of their nuptials? The scandal starred in every drawing room tea for <i>weeks</i>.</p>
<p>Teddy couldn’t fathom how James Barnes managed to live within the same community as the man who rejected him, enduring constant reminders of that slight whenever he conducted his business with his father’s associates. Granted, with his education, background, and family’s wealth, James could go wherever he pleased, certainly. Teddy knew James extended his father’s reach across his farms by managing them and reporting their activity to George, but this new information - this “Bucky Barton” working on Steve’s farm as a laborer, managing his accounts - confused him. And it begged for clarification.</p>
<p>Who better to clear this up for him than a certain charming, dark-haired young man whose company he craved, anyway?</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint watched Teddy Altman leave the gaming room and felt a frisson of panic.</p>
<p>“Blast,” Clint hissed.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“The two of you, what’s wrong with you? We can’t talk about this out in the open, next time. That was Teddy!”</p>
<p>“So?”</p>
<p>“So? Scott, Teddy, <i>Billy’s</i> Teddy? The one who’s always making calf eyes at him at the market? He was close enough to hear what we discussed.”</p>
<p>“Maybe he wasn’t,” Hank said hopefully. But he didn’t look convinced, himself.</p>
<p>“If he was, we have to pray for his silence. I don’t know what purpose Bucky’s false identity serves yet, but it can’t last. I worry about what will happen when Steve finds out that the man he refused to marry has shown up to his home every day, working on his land, eating at his table.”</p>
<p>“You’re making me regret asking you about your cousin so much right now, Clint,” Scott mused as he downed his drink.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Steve rose and stretched, groaning at the soreness in his muscles, but the morning promised to be beautiful as the rose-gold glow painted the clouds outside. He still felt a bit of residual congestion, but he was breathing much more clearly, his fever had broken, and his appetite came back in rapacious fashion. “I can’t remember the last time you liked my cooking this much,” Billy remarked as he dished up more of the roasted chicken, bread and vegetables onto Steve’s plate the night before.</p>
<p>“Of course I like it,” he mumbled as he chewed. “Why wouldn’t I like it?”</p>
<p>“You didn’t have to do it yourself; I suppose that makes it taste divine,” Billy joked. But he sounded happy, and his face was no longer drawn with tension and worry. Steve felt terrible for making his friend worry over him so much while he was ailing, and he was champing at the bit to get back out in the field to help him with the chores.</p>
<p>Steve washed up, dressed himself in warm, heavy clothing, and straightened up his room, opening the window to let out the stale air. His mood was light and hopeful, and the thought of Bucky arriving shortly made a soft smile pull at his lips. What Steve insisted would be a short ailment kept him bedbound all week. Yet, every time he woke from troubled, feverish dreams, he found Bucky there, changing or retucking his bedding, rubbing kinks out of his back, swabbing him down with witch hazel or the eucalyptus balm he picked up from the apothecary, or walking him downstairs to use the outhouse. Bucky, with his deep, soothing voice and concerned eyes almost never left Steve’s side. Steve hadn’t dreamed that. He chuckled when he thought of the stories that Bucky read to him, realizing that he hadn’t imagined that, either. </p>
<p>“Perhaps he should have become a physician instead of a manager,” he mused aloud as he finished buttoning his jacket. Steve blushed when he picked through his memories, still blurred from his previous delirium. He remembered the feeling of Bucky’s hands. How strong and warm they felt, and it occurred to him that he’d held onto one at some point, no doubt to keep him from leaving the room too soon. How Bucky had tensed slightly when Steve caught his fingers in his grip and held his palm against his chest, and then relaxed and smiled down at him with something like affection in his large, soft eyes. And Bucky let his palm rest against him, cupping his heartbeat.</p>
<p>“Rest, Stevie,” he told him. “I will be here when you wake. I promise.”</p>
<p>“It’s hard to be here in bed. I hate ailing like this and being useless-”</p>
<p>“Stop that, Steve. You work harder than any man I know. I’m going to grow very stern with you if you call yourself useless in my presence.” Steve stroked Bucky’s captive fingers at this reassurance. Bucky’s smile widened. “And it’s been my pleasure to know you, despite your constant habit of letting me make a fool out of myself at every task I attempt.”</p>
<p>And Steve remembered that, briefly, the feeling of shame that he’d perhaps treated Bucky less than kindly, and allowed Billy to grouse at him more than once. “Perhaps you’re a bit green, Bucky. But, you <i>try.</i> And that… goes a long way with me.” Bucky chuckled under his breath and nodded.</p>
<p>“Then, I’m honored.”</p>
<p>“You’re still a brat.”</p>
<p>“Keep calling me a brat, and I will bring you cold soup and cold tea,” Bucky warned, and that made Steve wheeze a rusty laugh until he coughed. Bucky tugged his hand loose and found Steve a handkerchief, and he hacked up more phlegm. He pounded on Steve’s back and rubbed it before he rolled back over to rest. Steve remembered Bucky reading him another story that day. If he didn’t know better - Steve couldn’t trust his mind’s wanderings while his fever dragged on - he could have sworn he felt Bucky smooth his hair, followed by a soft press of lips on his brow.</p>
<p>Of course, Steve had to have imagined it.</p>
<p>The thought still made his cheeks warm all the way up to his ears.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Steve wandered outside and found Billy feeding the fowl, and he decided to collect the eggs while the chickens pecked at the scattered seed. Billy looked pleased that he was up and ready.</p>
<p>“Thought you were at death’s door,” he teased. “Made me worry.”</p>
<p>“Hearing that warms my heart,” Steve joked. He glanced around the yard and at the barn, noticing the work Billy had done during his illness. “Everything looks tip-top. How did you manage all this?”</p>
<p>“Bucky,” he told him simply.</p>
<p>“Bucky helped you put on a new roof?” Steve noticed the shingles. Brand-new and perfectly placed. </p>
<p>“No. He just hired the ones who did,” Billy told him.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“You heard me. He hired a couple of hands and told me not to worry about it. That he could afford it.”</p>
<p>“But, <i>I</i> can’t afford it!” Steve cried.</p>
<p>“He didn’t want <i>you</i> to worry about it, either, Steve.”</p>
<p>“Well, I’ll worry about it if I like!” Steve shot back.</p>
<p>“Steve. Look. I know you’re worried about the cost, and I know we’ve managed fine on our own up until now. But, you were ailing.”</p>
<p>“I’m not now, and the cost of hiring help will cut into our profits!”</p>
<p>“Steve, we finished the harvest. And the planting is done. We will manage. Talk to Bucky about it, since he <i>is</i> your manager. I know I’ve pulled hairs about him coming on, but he helped us this time, and I’m glad of it.”</p>
<p>Steve felt indignant as he went to gather the eggs, but Billy called out to him from the yard.</p>
<p>“He’s been sneaking and buying supplies, too, but you probably knew that.”</p>
<p>“Like what?” Steve felt prickles of aggravation sweep over his flesh.</p>
<p>“Kerosene and some other things. Seed. And he replaced the yoke for the plow. I think he thought you wouldn’t notice.”</p>
<p>“Damn it,” Steve hissed. He resumed checking the nests, filling up his basket with eggs. Why would Bucky do something like that, when he needed to show George Barnes he could turn a profit? Wouldn’t he consider his manager spending money from his own funds dishonest?</p>
<p>It made so little sense. Steve knew Bucky wanted to help him, but what if Barnes saw this as a conflict of interest?</p>
<p>A few minutes later, Steve was still fuming and hot under the collar when he heard the clopping of hooves in the yard, and he watched Bucky ride up on his wagon, dressed warmly for work.<br/>Steve leaned against the doorway of the barn, arms folded over his chest as Bucky climbed down. He carried two large sacks under his arms toward the house, until Steve called out to him. “Bucky, what are you doing?”</p>
<p>Bucky turned to him and smiled. “Just stowing these inside. We’ll eat well this week, I bought flour and sugar, Stevie…”</p>
<p>“With what funds?” Steve demanded as he pushed away from the frame and stalked across the yard.</p>
<p>“Blast,” Billy muttered. “He’s in for it, now…”</p>
<p>“You don’t have to concern yourself about that, Stevie.”</p>
<p>“I don’t? Don’t I? Bucky, where did you enter this expense onto my ledger?”</p>
<p>Bucky paused at the front steps, furrowing his brow. “It’s only flour and sugar, Stevie. You needed them; your cupboards were looking bare, and I just wanted to help out.”</p>
<p>“So you dug into your pocket money? Bucky, I can’t prove to George Barnes that I can make a profit if his manager is paying for my expenses and isn’t accounting for it!”</p>
<p>“You need money to run your farm, and to keep food on your table, Steve. I saw your ledger, and I looked back on your expenses back when your uncle was still running this farm. He wasted far more money, and there was no way for him to make this farm profit to its full potential. You have his taste for gambling and liquor to thank for that.”</p>
<p>Steve flushed, and Bucky winced at his scowl, but he pressed on.</p>
<p>“Your ledger was bleeding money when I came here, Steve.”</p>
<p>“You’re my farm’s manager, Bucky, not its <i>investor</i>. Barnes will see this as a breach of contract.”</p>
<p>“No, he won’t. If I want to buy you sugar and a little flour, then I will. It isn’t up to him how I spend the salary he pays me,” Bucky snapped.</p>
<p>“And what of the men you hired?”</p>
<p>“What of them?”</p>
<p>“That costs far more than sugar and flour.”</p>
<p>“Don’t fret about it.”</p>
<p>“Don’t… don’t <i>fret</i> about it?!”</p>
<p>Steve’s mouth was agape. Bucky shrugged at him and headed for Steve’s pantry to set down the sugar, but Steve blocked his way. “No. Take it back to the shop.”</p>
<p>“Don’t be ridiculous! You need supplies and I brought them here!”</p>
<p>“Not when we have to watch every penny. You’re my manager, and you should know this and act like it!”</p>
<p>“Why are you being so stubborn about this? Why won’t you just let me help you, Steve?” Bucky tried to move around him again, but Steve lightly shoved him back.</p>
<p>“Because I don’t need help, Bucky! Stop trying to interfere!”</p>
<p>“So, I should let you starve rather than interfere?”</p>
<p>Steve’s mouth was mulish, and Bucky pushed past him and set the sugar onto the shelf. But when he moved to set the flour beside it, Steve grabbed the ends of the sack, stopping his progress. He tried to tug it from Bucky’s hands. “Don’t. Put it back on the wagon.”</p>
<p>“I’ll do no such thing! I’m putting it where it belongs!”</p>
<p>“It belongs back in the shop!”</p>
<p>“It belongs on your breakfast table!”</p>
<p>Bucky jerked it from Steve’s hands, only to find himself jerked forward as Steve tried to wrest it from him. They scuffled over it, each trying to slap it out of the other’s grasp. </p>
<p>“Why are you being so stubborn?!”</p>
<p>“Let GO!”</p>
<p>“YOU let go!”</p>
<p>Bucky tried to get purchase on the rough burlap, and his next attempt found him pinching at the edge of the sack where a few rough, burlap threads worked themselves loose.</p>
<p>
  <i>POOF!</i>
</p>
<p>Flour flew up from the punctured bag, showering them both in dusty white clouds. Steve and Bucky sputtered and coughed, exchanging annoyed looks.</p>
<p>“Was that <i>really necessary</i>, Steve?”</p>
<p>“I told you to put it back on the wagon.”</p>
<p>“Well, I certainly can’t, now! Damn it, Stevie!”</p>
<p>Bucky knelt down to see how much of the flour he could salvage from the sack. “Bring me the tin.”</p>
<p>Steve, exasperated, glared at Bucky and retreated to the kitchen. He grabbed the flour tin and uncapped it, and then he shoved it at Bucky.</p>
<p>“Take it, then. Do what you want with it.”</p>
<p>“Biscuits would have been nice. Or bread. Or anything else but dumping it all over the pantry. And ourselves.”</p>
<p>“Damn it, Bucky…”</p>
<p>“You could <i>help?</i>”</p>
<p>“I will,” Steve grumbled. “I am.”</p>
<p>And he did. Steve fetched the broom and dustpan to clean up the spill while Bucky poured as much flour into the mostly empty tin as he could manage, even managing to fill a second, smaller tin with the rest. They were both covered in white dust, hair, skin and clothing dull with it, and Bucky reached out and swiped at Steve’s trousers with his palm, dusting some of it off. “Leave it, Bucky.”</p>
<p>“Fine, then.”</p>
<p>“Good Lord, what did you two do?” Billy didn’t try to hide his snickers. “I came in here, expecting to see you two going at it, and you look like you both lost a fight with the flour sack!”</p>
<p>“He did it,” they said in unison, pointing to each other.</p>
<p>“Eejits,” Billy said. “Here, Steve, I’ll make the day’s bread. Just let me shake it from your shirt…”</p>
<p>Steve advanced on him with the dustpan full of flour, and Billy retreated quickly, darting out into the yard. But Steve finally dumped the wasted flour into the compost, while Billy chortled at him and went back to feeding the flock.</p>
<p>“Are you really angry at me just for buying some supplies?” Bucky asked calmly.</p>
<p>Steve sighed and turned to face him. His expression was long-suffering but slightly contrite.</p>
<p>“Perhaps you should have asked me before you just spent the money.”</p>
<p>“It was <i>my</i> money to spend. I know you can manage on your own, but there’s no need for you to struggle if I’m here to help. You never should have had to do all of this yourself in the first place. Your uncle should have protected your inheritance. He was entrusted with it.”</p>
<p>Steve looked frustrated, and he turned away from Bucky then. Bucky watched him tug on the back of his hair, posture stiff and uncomfortable.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry. I spoke out of turn.”</p>
<p>“Yet, you didn’t lie.”</p>
<p>Steve went back out into the yard. Bucky decided to go into the barn and stack hay bales in the loft. He climbed the ladder and restacked the bales that were up there, making room for more. He climbed down and brought up the first few bales without difficulty.</p>
<p>“What are you doing?” Steve demanded.</p>
<p>“Stacking the hay,” Bucky told him.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to do that, you can go back into the house and balance the books.”</p>
<p>“I know I can, Steve, but I want to help. You shouldn’t have to do everything the first day that you’re feeling well.”</p>
<p>Steve huffed. “Please tell me you’re not angry about the flour.”</p>
<p>“Why would I be angry about the flour?”</p>
<p>Bucky’s voice was collected and smooth, but Steve heard its edge and smothered a brittle laugh.</p>
<p>“You were trying to help me. I know I didn’t express my gratitude properly, Bucky, and I apologize.”</p>
<p>Bucky paused dramatically and stared down at Steve from over the edge of the loft. “Did my ears just hear an apology from one Steven Rogers? Has the sky begun raining down gold coins? I never thought I would live to experience this miracle!”</p>
<p>Steve’s lips twisted. Bucky went back to the bales, but when he moved the next one, he heard a strange, twittering series of squeaks and saw something large, gray and furry go scrabbling through the loose straw.</p>
<p>“GAH! RAT! RODENT! Damn it!” Bucky yelped and stumbled backward, completely missing the edge of the ladder, and he tumbled over the edge of the loft.</p>
<p>“BUCKY!” Steve’s feet moved in a flash, before he could reason with himself over his response to seeing Bucky fall, and he darted out, arms outstretched, heart racing and heedless of the potential harm of-</p>
<p>Steve bit his tongue with the impact as the two of them were knocked backwards onto the hay-scattered ground. Steve groaned, body smarting from his landing, and Bucky was still limp and stunned, lying back against him, and Steve patted him reflexively. Bucky wriggled around until he faced him, and his face broke into a helpless smile. He snickered before asking, “Heavens, Stevie, are you all right?”</p>
<p>“I’m questioning my decision to rise from bed this morning, right now. Perhaps it hasn’t been ideal…”</p>
<p>“I’m all right now, too. Thank you for asking. My pride is more wounded than anything else.”</p>
<p>“You saw a rat?”</p>
<p>“It was enormous, and I never knew they grew that large.”</p>
<p>“I’ll set out some poison,” Steve promised as they lay there, just staring at each other. “Did it frighten you that much?”</p>
<p>“It startled me,” Bucky admitted. “And it was quite disgusting.”</p>
<p>“You’ve lived a pampered life if you’ve never seen one up until now.”</p>
<p>“Never up so close,” Bucky clarified. “What’s wrong?” he asked as Steve gently probed his lip.</p>
<p>“Bit the inside of my lip. The back of your head struck me in the mouth. Made me see stars for a moment.”</p>
<p>His lip was slightly puffy. Rosy. Bucky leaned up on one elbow and gently tilted Steve’s face to better see the wound. Steve’s eyes flitted over Bucky’s face in surprise at the gentle, insistent touch, and he was suddenly conscious of how close Bucky was, with the entire length of his body pressed against his. He touched Steve’s lip, turning the edge of it out to examine the tiny cut. “I’m sorry. The first thing I did once you were back out of bed was knock you silly, and I didn’t mean to, Steve.”</p>
<p>Steve reached for Bucky’s hand, a gesture that felt like he was dreaming it, echoing the times when he was feverish and when Bucky had touched him. Bucky shivered at the sensation of Steve’s warm, calloused fingers closing around his wrist and caressing his pulse. Bucky’s breath caught, and his eyes dilated.</p>
<p>“This isn’t the first time you’ve knocked me silly, Bucky.” Steve’s smile was lopsided and smug, and he watched Bucky’s expression shift from surprise to one of delight.</p>
<p>“It still looks like it hurts, Stevie.”</p>
<p>“Just a little.”</p>
<p>“May I make it better?”</p>
<p>Steve’s eyes crinkled with humor, and he nodded enthusiastically, giving Bucky permission. The hand that Steve still clasped flattened against Steve’s chest, splaying against his solid warmth, and Bucky leaned down slowly, eagerly, and brushed his lips against Steve’s in a tentative, sweet caress that made their hearts pound. He heard Steve’s breath hitch, before he hummed in pleasure, and Bucky kissed him again, chasing that sound. Craving it. </p>
<p>Steve’s arm coiled around Bucky’s waist and pulled him over, rolling him atop Steve’s body. Bucky moaned at the change in position and how much of Steve it allowed him to feel at once. He cradled Steve’s jaw in his palm and kissed him again, feeling Steve open for him. Bucky sucked lightly (so gently) on Steve’s lower lip, urging him to give him better access, and his tongue swept inside Steve’s mouth, tasting his slick heat. Steve’s hand ran down the length of Bucky’s back until it found his rump, and he squeezed its supple, firm curve greedily, making Bucky smile against his lips.</p>
<p>“Your hands have wandered a bit.”</p>
<p>“Do you want them to stop?” There was mischief in Steve’s pearly blue eyes. </p>
<p>“Not in the least.”</p>
<p>“Good, this is good…” </p>
<p>Bucky nodded at him and resumed kissing him, and he felt Steve arch up against him. He lay caged in Bucky’s arms, and Bucky’s hips thrust down against him, searching out Steve’s heat. Passion licked over Bucky’s nerve endings as he became aware of Steve, listening to his breathing, drawing in his masculine scent, absorbing the heat of his body. Bucky’s fingers groomed out bits of hay from Steve’s hair - honestly, the two of them were a mess by now, between the flour incident in the kitchen and now rolling about in the dirt - and they kissed hungrily, as though the chance to would be stolen from them any moment.</p>
<p>Billy’s voice in the doorway broke the spell.</p>
<p>“So, I suppose you two aren’t arguing anymore?”</p>
<p>Bucky hissed in alarm and rolled off of Steve in an instant, shocked out of his passionate stupor. Kissing Steve had robbed him of all reason, and he heard Steve’s smothered curse as they both struggled to their feet and brushed off bits of hay and debris from their clothing. Bucky glanced up and found Billy smirking at the two of them, shaking his head.</p>
<p>“There’s nothing to argue about, and there’s work to do,” Steve told him simply as he went to the tools hanging along the wall and handed Bucky the pitchfork. “Bucky was just about to muck out the stalls.”</p>
<p>“But… I <i>wasn’t.</i>”</p>
<p>“I think you were.” Steve bit the edge of his lip in amusement, and Bucky huffed in annoyance as he took the pitchfork. “I’m going to set out poison. We have rats.”</p>
<p>“And other unwelcome intruders,” Bucky grumbled as he went into the stall.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>They went about their chores and managed to sit down for tea just before noon. Bucky wondered to himself why the food tasted better that day and how he could eat with such a hearty appetite. Steve watched him eat the thick slice of bread spread with butter and jam, forgetting his usual table manners as he licked his fingers instead of using his napkin. Steve’s eyes tracked the movement, intrigued by Bucky’s mouth, but he forced his attention back to his own plate. Bucky noticed and failed to hide his own smile.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bucky finally worked on the ledger and went over it with Steve, reconciling it against their remaining expenses.</p>
<p>“If we manage to sell the pickles and eggs at the market, you’ll have more than enough to buy grain.”</p>
<p>“Don’t you think for a second that you’re buying it for me,” Steve warned.</p>
<p>“I’m your manager, not your investor,” Bucky agreed, before rolling his eyes.</p>
<p>Steve tsked under his breath and shook his head, but he smirked. </p>
<p>“But, I want to go to the market with you.”</p>
<p>Steve nodded, smiling genuinely this time.</p>
<p>They finished discussing the expenses much later, and Bucky put Steve’s mind at ease that he wouldn’t take the funds he used to pay Scott and Hank out of his profits for the month. </p>
<p>“I only wanted to help you to stay afloat. I didn’t mean to take liberties or overstep, Steve.”</p>
<p>“The next time you wish to take liberties, please limit it to bringing me tea. Or reading me stories.” Steve rose from the desk and offered Bucky a parting shot. “Or removing my shirt…”</p>
<p>Bucky flushed a deep, hot scarlet. Oh, how his hands remembered Steve without his shirt.</p>
<p>Steve went out into the yard, while Bucky headed for the barn to look for more canning jars. He found them in the corner and brought out two crates full, wondering if it would be enough to finish the pickling. </p>
<p>He heard hoofbeats coming up the drive and wondered who was visiting in the middle of the afternoon. But when he heard Steve’s joyous shout, it pricked his interest, and he peered out through the barn window.</p>
<p>He saw the pastor’s handsome son, Samuel Wilson, and Bucky felt his heart flip in alarm. <i>Sam.</i></p>
<p>That smile. That friendly, easy manner. He was still very much a man who was comfortable in his skin, and in any situation. Charming. Kind. Skilled at smoothing things over, from what Bucky remembered.</p>
<p>Including his aborted wedding. To Steve Rogers.</p>
<p>Bucky felt a frisson of envy when Steve and Sam embraced. It was brotherly and familiar, but it was too soon after he’d felt Steve against him - <i>under him</i> - and Bucky felt greedy for more of the intimate contact. The last time Sam spoke to Bucky, he delivered the grim news that his groom deserted him, sight unseen, and broke the engagement. Bucky remembered the stinging heat of his own tears and Sam’s hollow, well-intended apology. It still stung, even after the past few months. But Bucky was still just as determined to know Steve, his one-time groom, even though Steve was only acquainting himself with the side of him that Bucky wanted him to know. Bucky knew he held an unfair advantage in that regard. </p>
<p>But Sam’s appearance posed difficulties that threatened his efforts like water did a paper boat.</p>
<p>Bucky ducked back into the barn and watched them from the window, heart hammering in his chest. “Blast it all,” he muttered.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Steve held onto Sam, beaming and looking him over. “Aren’t you a pretty picture. You never have to put on airs to come and visit me, Sam.”</p>
<p>“This effort is my bare minimum, Steve. I hardly ‘put on airs.’ All I did was <i>bathe.</i>” Sam clapped Steve’s shoulder fondly. “You should try it, sometime…”</p>
<p>“You wound me…”</p>
<p>Sam pinched the end of Steve’s collar and made a face at the sorry state of his shirt. “And I tried to send you out the door in Sunday finery. How foolish of me.”</p>
<p>“Your expectations, as ever, were far too high.”</p>
<p>“I was hopeful.” And Sam gave him a soft smile. “You’ll never make me stop hoping for the best for you, Steve.”</p>
<p>They released each other reluctantly, and Bucky noticed the way their contact lingered, stoking his envy. And they were merely <i>friends?</i></p>
<p>“You look a bit peaked,” Sam remarked.</p>
<p>“None the worse for wear, considering,” Steve admitted. “I wasn’t well. I took to my bed, albeit unwillingly.”</p>
<p>“Who held you down? Billy?” Sam’s eyes roved over the field and herds. “Nothing else is the worse for wear, from what I can tell. DId someone help you?”</p>
<p>“My farm’s manager. The one that George Barnes sent here. I had some misgivings, but… I’ve grown accustomed to having him come around.”</p>
<p>Sam’s brows drew together. “Manager?”</p>
<p>“Yes. Bucky. Bucky Barton. He’s Clint’s cousin.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t think Clint had any family living nearby. None whom I’ve ever met, certainly?”</p>
<p>“He went away to university.”</p>
<p>“<i>Clint</i> has a cousin who attended university?!” Sam was agog.</p>
<p>“Believe me, we were all a bit surprised.”</p>
<p>“A <i>bit</i>?!”</p>
<p>“Sam. Stop that.”</p>
<p>“Apologies. Steve. This is just so… unlikely.”</p>
<p>“Give both Bartons their due. Bucky has quite the head for numbers, and… well. He’s a quick study, even if things didn’t start auspiciously.”</p>
<p>Sam smirked, and the expression made his dark eyes twinkle in a way that was typical of whenever they visited together. “Not auspicious? Dare I ask…?”</p>
<p>“Milked Bertie on the wrong side. She set him straight.”</p>
<p>“With her good foot!” Sam slapped his knees, crowing with laughter. “Oh, the things I miss when I stay away for too long!”</p>
<p>Steve chuckled and nodded as he led Sam toward the kitchen door. “Speaking of Bucky, where is he?”</p>
<p>“He’s here today?” Sam glanced around. “I saw Billy in the orchard when I rode up the lane. Just him.”</p>
<p>“No, Bucky is here,” Steve insisted. “BUCKY!” he called out. “Come and meet my friend Sam!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bucky growled under his breath and steeled himself, schooling the panic out of his face. He counted silently to three and emerged from the barn, carrying the box of jars. Steve smiled at him and waved him over impatiently, while Sam’s smile froze ominously, before faltering.</p>
<p>“Bucky…?” Bucky saw Sam murmur his name incredulously, but Bucky just gave him his brightest smile and continued across the yard. </p>
<p>“He’s the only man I know who spends just as much time at his tailor’s as you do, Sam. Pretty or not, he still works hard,” Steve teased.</p>
<p>“You go by Bucky-”</p>
<p>“Bucky Barton,” Bucky told him easily, balancing the jars on one hip as he reached out to shake Sam’s hand a little too firmly. “Clint’s cousin.”</p>
<p>“We’ve met before-”</p>
<p>“We couldn’t have. Perhaps you’ve just seen me about town.”</p>
<p>“Per...haps?”</p>
<p>Sam quirked one brow and he cocked his head slightly as he worked through the information, taking in Bucky’s simple clothing and the hint of stubble on his jaw. Feeling the slight calluses on Bucky’s palms, acquired through honest work. </p>
<p>“Maybe you’ve seen him at the market, Sam. Bucky helps us every once in a while. That face and charm of his sells us a lot of eggs and cheese.”</p>
<p>“I bet it does,” Sam agreed. “So. <i>Barton.</i> Clint never mentioned a cousin. We all grew up together, and Clint and his brother, Bernard, were friends of ours in primary.”</p>
<p>For just a moment, Bucky felt a memory float down into his consciousness, making tiny ripples. Sam. Younger. Dimples. A gap in his teeth that he never outgrew. He and Steve shared a seat at the desk in the front of the school room, and he stood up for Steve during scuffles in the yard. But Bucky didn’t have the luxury of pondering the first time that he met Samuel Thomas Wilson, not when he had to convince him - or Steve - that they had never met until <i>now</i>.</p>
<p>“My parents moved us - er, my family left town when I was young.”</p>
<p>“Bucky talks about his sister Becca all the time. Honestly, I’ve never met her, and I feel like I know her, already!”</p>
<p>Sam’s brows shot up into his hairline. Bucky’s stomach twisted itself up in knots and he began to sweat, but he recovered quickly.</p>
<p>“Steve, let me put these jars inside. We can finish the pickling!”</p>
<p>“It’s a fine time to finish it, we’ve so much dill, now. Mind that you don’t add sugar to the brine this time instead of salt. We’re not making jam today-”</p>
<p>“Good God, Stevie, will you <i>please</i> let that go?!”</p>
<p>“Never.”</p>
<p>“He’s insufferable,” Bucky told Sam, who nodded in full agreement.</p>
<p>“You, sir, have a gift for understatement.”</p>
<p>“And irritation. Let’s not leave that gift out,” Steve countered.</p>
<p>Steve ushered Sam inside and sat him down, and the three men began to prepare the vegetables for pickling. Sam removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, displaying a true gift for knife work as they sliced and chopped. Steve rambled on about their progress on the farm since Bucky arrived.</p>
<p>“Bucky nearly fell off the roof a few weeks ago, and today, he tripped backwards out of the loft.”</p>
<p>“Steve made an excellent cushion.”</p>
<p>Sam snickered, shaking his head. “That explains that fat lip of yours, Steve.”</p>
<p>Steve blushed, while Bucky glanced away, but Sam caught his smile, filing it away for future knowledge.</p>
<p>
  <i>Interesting.</i>
</p>
<p>“My father would call me remiss if I didn’t ask why I’ve never seen you at Sunday services.”</p>
<p>Bucky realized Sam was talking to <i>him</i> and struggled for a feasible response. “Er. I belong to a different… parish.”</p>
<p>“Our chapel is quite lovely. My father prides himself on delivering our Lord’s message with the utmost gravity and enthusiasm.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure he gives a rousing sermon,” Bucky agreed.</p>
<p>“You should attend it sometime,” Sam urged.</p>
<p>“Sam,” Steve said, huffing slightly. “Bucky may have his reasons for not attending in our parish.”</p>
<p>“I would love to hear them. Perhaps I can persuade him to reconsider. I’m sure many of your acquaintances attend our services? Certainly, you must know some of them. Like, the Rasputin family, for instance? Or the Howletts? The Guthries?”</p>
<p>“I know them from the farms that we- er, I mean, that my employer oversees.”</p>
<p>“Or perhaps the <i>Barneses</i>?”</p>
<p>Sam gave the name telling weight, and Bucky flushed, feeling his skin explode in hot prickles. Sam Wilson was proving to be either oblivious to Bucky’s discomfiture, or the man was simply an outright <i>nuisance</i>.</p>
<p>“Or the Romanovs,” Steve interjected, cutting neatly through the tension in the room. This time, Sam’s face went on a journey. “One Romanov in particular.”</p>
<p>“Miss Romanov?” Bucky pounced on the familiar name. “Extravagant auburn hair? Petite? Owns a wit most droll?”</p>
<p>“<i>Most</i> droll.” Steve grinned. “She fair skewered Clint the other day.”</p>
<p>“It’s not hard,” Sam said, shrugging, but he felt as though he missed a worthy moment. <i>Every</i> moment in Natasha’s presence was worth capturing. And savoring. “But, I’m sorry I missed it.”</p>
<p>“Bucky, I need to step out for a moment,” Steve told them as he got up from the table. “Can you please fetch the salt?”</p>
<p>“You mean, the sugar?” Bucky teased, winking at him.</p>
<p>Steve rolled his eyes and clapped his shoulder fondly. His touch lingered before he walked out into the yard.</p>
<p>Sam and Bucky stared at each other across the table for a long moment. Bucky rose and went into the pantry.</p>
<p>“So. You’re managing the farm?”</p>
<p>“This one. And a handful of others.”</p>
<p>“Do you spend much time on this one, supervising?”</p>
<p>Bucky snorted as he left the pantry with the sack of salt tucked under his arm. “Supervise? I stand as a target for Billy’s barbs more often than I do anything else, if I’m being-”</p>
<p>“James.”</p>
<p>“- honest.”</p>
<p>Sam’s voice was ominously soft. Bucky’s heart started pounding again, and he gripped the salt tightly.</p>
<p>“I don’t understand why you’re doing this, but I’m inclined to tell you that it’s a <i>terrible</i> idea. I’ve known Steven Rogers for years, Bucky… or <i>James</i>, or whoever you are, and if there’s one thing that Steve despises, it’s a liar.”</p>
<p>“I know Steve has the strongest character. I envy that about him. I respect him.”</p>
<p>“Then, why lie?”</p>
<p>“You wouldn’t understand.”</p>
<p>They both snuck looks as Steve crossed the field and walked into the outhouse, closing the door after himself. Billy called out to him, “Sitting down on the job again, Rogers? Get back to work!” as he put away the pruning shears. </p>
<p>“No. <i>Steve</i> won’t understand this.” Sam shook his head. “He truly doesn’t know?”</p>
<p>“That my father is the one who holds the deed to his farm?” </p>
<p>The words released some of the tension that Bucky had been carrying for weeks.</p>
<p>“Does he?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“Then that makes this charade of yours all the more questionable. And less than ideal.”</p>
<p>“Sam. Please.”</p>
<p>“Explain this to me.”</p>
<p>“Briefly. Because, Sam, I swear to you, I don’t know what I’ll do if he finds out, but I’m a very desperate man, with very few options.”</p>
<p>Sam huffed, then nodded. “All right.”</p>
<p>“You were there. When he abandoned me.”</p>
<p>Sam’s eyes slid away for a moment, and then he sighed. He watched Bucky with renewed sympathy. “Yes, I remember. I watched your heart break.”</p>
<p>“Yes, you did. I’m not so proud that I can’t admit that. Our engagement was fast. Too fast. My parents arranged it as part of my father’s acquisition of the farm. You know him well enough by word of mouth.”</p>
<p>“Our parents are friends, yes. They regularly attend services,” Sam said. “And I noticed you missing from the pew.”</p>
<p>“Of course you did. And you can well imagine why.”</p>
<p>“I can now.”</p>
<p>“I wanted to know him. I wanted to meet him. We never managed a formal meeting, and he refused an engagement banquet.” Bucky laughed bitterly. “He seemed to want to get it all over with quickly. And, well. I admit, I wanted things. I had expectations. Father wanted to move me out of the house, so that my sister could enjoy her Season uninterrupted and to make more room for guests when he threw her a ball. I had just returned home from Pembroke. So, how better to kill two birds with one stone, than to marry his oldest son off to the man whose farm he let the bank foreclose on when his uncle gambled it away, so he could install that son as manager?”</p>
<p>Sam paled, and he leaned back in his chair. “Good Lord…”</p>
<p>“I know it sounds horrid.”</p>
<p>“It’s <i>unthinkable.</i>”</p>
<p>“Sam, I was <i>desperate</i>. Just… you don’t understand.” Bucky’s eyes sparked, and he saw Steve coming back toward the house, stopping to wash his hands at the water pump. “You <i>need</i> to understand. I needed to know him. I needed to know how he could leave me at the altar. I needed to know his character, because until then, I would know no peace. I prepared myself to marry him. My parents enjoy a joyous marriage, and I don’t fear the prospect of it. Far from it. If I could know him, work with him, learn how he thinks and feels, and find even the <i>slightest</i> proof that we wouldn’t suit, then I could rest assured that he was right to leave me at the altar. Even though it tore my soul to pieces.” Bucky’s voice was watery and grave, and he realized that tears threatened to spill down his cheeks. He dashed them away quickly with the edge of his sleeve.</p>
<p>“James,” Sam said softly. “Damn it. How could you… why do this? Why bring this down upon yourself?”</p>
<p>“I had to know, or else I would never rest.”</p>
<p>“And what have you learned, with this subterfuge?”</p>
<p>“That we would suit perfectly, if only he would see it.” Bucky stared down at the floor and clenched his fist. “If only he would see <i>me</i>.”</p>
<p>“There’s more to this that you aren’t telling me.”</p>
<p>“There’s nothing else to tell.”</p>
<p>“Why don’t I believe that?”</p>
<p>“Believe what you want.” Bucky glanced at Steve one more time as he approached. “But, please. Remain silent about this. You could cost me <i>everything,</i> Sam.”</p>
<p>Sam frowned, but his smile returned as soon as Steve stepped over the threshold moments later. He took the sack from Bucky without asking and set it on the table, opened it, and reached in to taste its contents.</p>
<p>“Salt. All right. Now, we won’t ruin the pickles.”</p>
<p>Bucky laughed, but it was a hollow sound. </p>
<p>But the rest of the afternoon moved along smoothly until the sun set through the trees. By the time they finished, Bucky’s shoulders ached and the kitchen reeked of brine and dill, but they had several cooling, finished jars to show for their troubles. Bucky started carrying them outside, and Steve began to follow him, but Sam held him back. </p>
<p>“Let me do that. You’re still in fragile condition,” Sam kidded as he took the box of jars from him and shooed him into his seat.</p>
<p>“You’re hardly back from death’s door,” Bucky agreed. “Sit down, Stevie.”</p>
<p>Steve made a disgusted noise, but he groaned in relief at getting off of his feet.</p>
<p>Sam and Bucky took the pickles out to the barn and stored them off to the side of the loft, where the sun wouldn’t reach. </p>
<p>“I won’t tell him, because it’s not my place.”</p>
<p>“It’s really not.”</p>
<p>“But I won’t lie for you. That’s on <i>your</i> conscience.”</p>
<p>“I understand that he’s your friend. I know you are questioning my character.”</p>
<p>“No. Not yours. Your father’s, for the choice he made to arrange such an engagement.”</p>
<p>“He cares about money.”</p>
<p>“So do men who don’t lack it.” Sam reached for Bucky’s shoulder and squeezed it. “You’re on the road to heartbreak. But, so help me, James, don’t break <i>Steve</i> heart in your zeal to find rest and to ‘know him.’”</p>
<p>Bucky shook his head. “I swear, Sam, that if the truth hurts Steve, I will leave him alone. I won’t darken his doorstep again. But, if he feels the way that I do, and if he decides that we stand a chance to be truly happy together, nothing will keep me from his side. Not my father. And certainly not <i>you</i>.”</p>
<p>Sam grunted in surprise, and then he gave Bucky a lopsided smile. “So. That’s how it is.”</p>
<p>“Good night, Sam.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. We’ll Tell the Band to Play Something Slow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Becca eyed Sam furtively as she pulled him into the back of the confectionery. She glanced around quickly to make sure no one else was within earshot.</p>
<p>“Why are you asking me about my brother?”</p>
<p>“I just wondered if you were really in on it. Good Lord, you Barneses weave a tangled web…”</p>
<p>“Hush,” she hissed. “No one needs to know about this!”</p>
<p>“It’s beyond me how no one’s found your brother out by now.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay. Sam knows. We found that out in the last chapter. We’re getting closer, kids. Thanks for hanging in there with me and my nonsense.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve finished sealing the gap in the floorboards and sat up, wiping his brow. Billy finished repairing the shutter outside that kept banging loose whenever there was a strong wind. The two of them spent most of the week preparing the house for the colder months. Steve stacked a cord of firewood outside and found the heaviest quilt in the linen pantry and laid it over his bed. Billy gifted him with some castoffs, particularly several pairs of long johns that didn’t have too many tears.</p>
<p>“Can’t have you getting sick again,” Billy scolded.</p>
<p>“These will help. Thanks, Billy.”</p>
<p>“Keep that bony arse of yours covered up, Steve, unless you’re planning to invite Bucky to warm it up for you.”</p>
<p>“So insolent! Why are we friends, again?”</p>
<p>“Because you need me to set you straight.”</p>
<p>“The Lord sent you to me, to be a trial of my patience.”</p>
<p>“Bet he’d be willing to do the job, though, if you offered it. He’s got to be good for <i>something.</i>”</p>
<p>“Billy. Enough. You mind him a lot less than you let on.”</p>
<p>“And he wouldn’t mind if you let him on!”</p>
<p>Steve’s blue eyes grew round as he gawped at Billy, who whooped in laughter. Steve rounded on Billy, chasing after him with fist raised, but Billy ducked, chortling as he darted into the kitchen from the corridor. The room already boasted a promising stew with dumplings, the pot emitting rich, meaty aromas. Bucky was due to arrive once he returned from the Guthrie farm. Billy evaded him, getting the small, round table between them. “Why do I put up with you?!”</p>
<p>“Save this for your wedding night, I bet Bucky will love it! Chase him around before you have a go at him! That will get his juices flowing!” Billy’s voice was equal parts smug and panicked as Steve shoved the whole table aside, upsetting a bowl of unpeeled potatoes, and he yelped as Steve got a hold of him and managed to catch him in a headlock. They laughed and cursed, wheezed and yelped as they play-fought around the kitchen, a flurry of half-balled fists and pinching, tickling fingers. They finally stumbled over a chair and landed in a heap by the lower cupboards.</p>
<p>“You jackass,” Steve panted, still laughing where he lay sprawled. Billy snickered. “Why are you like this?”</p>
<p>“Who better?”</p>
<p>“Gave me a stitch in my side… ow.” Steve gave Billy a slight shove before he hauled himself to his feet, and he obliged Billy when he extended his hand for Steve to pull him to his feet.</p>
<p>“Hey.” Billy glanced past Steve through the window, drawing Steve’s attention. “Who’s that? We expecting company?”</p>
<p>“No, I wasn’t…” Steve’s brows drew together when he saw a tall, lean, dark-skinned gentleman in a sharp black coat and immaculately tied cravat and gleaming Hessian boots climb down from his horse. It was cold enough out that it puzzled Billy and Steve that he didn’t arrive by carriage, especially since he looked to be a man of means. “I’ve never seen that man before.”</p>
<p>Both of them straightened their clothing and neatened the kitchen as they watched the stranger approach, hearing his boots crunch in the fresh snow the closer he came. Upon closer inspection, Steve noticed his stiff, almost overly correct posture and a small, black eye patch he wore that didn’t quite obscure the fine webbing of scars. He looked like a soldier who belonged on a battlefield leading a regiment of men, not like a gentleman visiting a country farm on a cold afternoon.</p>
<p>His smile was curt as he stood outside the door. Steve cautiously opened it to him while Billy flanked his side.</p>
<p>“Good evening.”</p>
<p>“Hello, sir. How may I help you?”</p>
<p>He gave Steve an assessing smile, nodding almost to himself. “I’m glad you asked. My name is Nicholas Fury. I am a surveyor for your county. I am assessing and recording information for the farms in this district. Are you Steven Grant Rogers?”</p>
<p>“Indeed, I am.”</p>
<p>“Are you the son of the late Joseph and Sarah Rogers?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“And this is your farm?”</p>
<p>“I tend it and I live here, yes. This is my source of income since I lost my parents.”</p>
<p>“But, you own it?”</p>
<p>“That depends on the next three months. Mr. George Barnes currently holds the deed. My uncle Mortimer surrendered it to the bank, and Mr. Barnes purchased it.”</p>
<p>“Then, you are living here as a tenant.”</p>
<p>A rash of hot prickles ran over Steve’s flesh at his summation. “Well, yes.”</p>
<p>“Hmmm.” Nicholas took out a slim book that resembled a ledger, and he jotted down some notes with a pencil. Then, he nodded to Billy. “Are you also a tenant, sir?”</p>
<p>“No. I’m Billy Kaplan. I’m a laborer, and I’m Steve’s friend.”</p>
<p>“Are you his partner?”</p>
<p>“No. Not like that.”</p>
<p>“I couldn’t run this place without him,” Steve clarified.</p>
<p>“Who else helps you to run it?”</p>
<p>“It’s mostly the two of us who do the labor and the harvesting,” Steve told him. “And, sometimes, we have some help when we need it. We… er. My manager, he… he hired some local men to help with the plowing, harvesting and repairs while I was ill.”</p>
<p>“Your manager?”</p>
<p>“Yes. He hired the men and paid them a salary to complete the work. He didn’t consult me.”</p>
<p>“He didn’t consult me, either. He just <i>informed</i> me that it was happening and that he’d done it,” Billy added. </p>
<p>“If he’s your manager, then doesn’t he work for you? That’s the usual and expected role of a manager, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“I didn’t hire him. George Barnes did. As I told you, Mr. Barnes holds the deed, and as such, he makes the decisions, now.”</p>
<p>And it pained Steve so much to admit this.</p>
<p>“What is your manager’s name?”</p>
<p>“Bucky Barton.”</p>
<p>“You said his name is Bucky Barton?” That gave Mr. Fury pause. He scratched that down in his book, shrugging slightly. “Barton?” he asked again, just to make sure he heard it correctly.</p>
<p>“Yes. Clint’s cousin. Clint owns the confectionery in town.”</p>
<p>“Clint… Barton?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“Bucky said he’s related to Clint on his mother’s side.”</p>
<p>Nick’s brows drew together. “That seems strange. It would have to be on his <i>father’s</i> side, I imagine.”</p>
<p>“I don’t recall that,” Billy argued, and he folded his arms. “And why does it matter? Why do you care if our manager is family to Clint or not?”</p>
<p>“I assure you, it’s moot. I’m just curious. But, your farm has a manager. So, that really only makes three of you who tend to the daily operations of this farm?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Steve said. “And we’re managing, Mr. Fury.”</p>
<p>“I can see that. Everything seems to be in order. Is that a new roof on this house?”</p>
<p>“Yes. The men Bucky hired helped Billy to put it on.”</p>
<p>“It looks very sound. It should help to keep out the drafts and leaks. How fortunate that your manager was thinking ahead.” More scratching of that pencil across the paper. Nick’s face was unreadable, but there was something about his words, the way he chose them, emphasizing “manager” each time he selected it, that just rubbed Steve the wrong way.</p>
<p>Why was he so interested in Bucky?</p>
<p>But, he looked up and smiled at Steve, cordial and easygoing, and he asked, “Can I see the rest of the farm? Can you tell me a bit more about how you run things here? It won’t take long, I assure you. I’m a busy man, and I have several other farms to survey.”</p>
<p>“That’s fine, Mr. Fury. Let me show you around. Billy, go ahead and check on the stew.”</p>
<p>Steve showed him the out buildings and barn, the gardens that he had covered in burlap, and the fencing that separated his property from his closest neighbors. Their conversation was polite enough as they strolled over the snowy grounds. Once in a while, the subject of Bucky came up again.</p>
<p>“You said your manager is good with numbers?”</p>
<p>“Yes. He said he is a recent graduate from Pembroke. I only finished secondary school myself. I never went to university, and I would be lying if I said I didn’t envy Bucky, sometimes. You can tell he’s never worked on a farm before he came here, but he’s a quick study.”</p>
<p>“He’s never worked on a farm? Yet, he’s your manager?”</p>
<p>“He’s learning, sir. And remember, he was George Barnes’ choice.”</p>
<p>Nick chuckled gently. “Yes, you’ve told me.”</p>
<p>Mr. Fury listened to the rest of Steve’s replies to his questions with polite interest while he kept scratching down notes. Billy watched them from the window, and gradually, from just outside the door as he brought in more firewood to stoke up the stove. His brow was furrowed and he seemed worried, but Steve tried to give him reassuring smiles every now and again.</p>
<p>Why would they have to worry about someone merely surveying the farm? If anything, if he sent back word to George that Steve and Billy were managing it well, then it would only benefit them in the long run. Wouldn’t it? Surely.</p>
<p>“I think that takes care of my questions and my survey of your property. You’ve maintained it very well.”</p>
<p>“I hope you will document that. We’ve been thriving and managing without any problems.”</p>
<p>“Yes.” Mr. Fury clapped his book shut and reached out to shake Steve’s hand. His grip was pleasantly firm. “I hope you gentlemen have a pleasant evening. Enjoy your supper.”</p>
<p>“Goodbye, sir, and godspeed.”</p>
<p>Steve still had an odd feeling as he watched him take his leave, as though he had just revealed far too much. Still… it wouldn’t help to hold back information regarding the daily running of the farm from the man who, after a fashion, held the deed that Steve’s uncle lost to the bank.</p>
<p>“Why do I feel like we just gave up the family secrets?” Billy said, suddenly, as though he’d read Steve’s thoughts. “Quite the nosey sort, wasn’t he?”</p>
<p>“He just showed up so suddenly. But, I don’t know how Barnes is even planning to assess our success.”</p>
<p>“Or what he considers our failure, or however it will work out for him not to have to let this place free from his clutches.”</p>
<p>Steve growled under his breath. “That’s hardly encouraging. Enough of this. Let’s set the table. Bucky is almost here.”</p>
<p>“That looks like him coming up the road,” Billy countered as he pointed across the field, and Steve moved toward the doorway and leaned against its edge for a better peek. Billy huffed as he watched Steve’s face light up. “Just get on with it, then. So the two of you can quit mooning over each other. It’s sickening watching you watch him with those big calf’s eyes.”</p>
<p>“Then perhaps a visit to Teddy’s place might distract you, so you don’t have to keep your nose in <i>my</i> business,” Steve suggested dryly. “Take that off the heat. The dumplings are done.”</p>
<p>And Steve shrugged into his jacket, deciding the wait for Bucky to come all the way up the drive and hitch his wagon was far too long. He ducked out of the kitchen and jogged across the field, and Bucky caught sight of him as he approached the gate and waved. His smile was fond, automatic, and it made warmth and eagerness flood Steve’s chest. <i>Bucky.</i> He waved to Steve and watched him unlatch the gate to let him in, and Steve noticed that Bucky seemed just as eager to dismount and greet him. Once the gate was closed, and Bucky hitched his horses, Bucky climbed down casually and met Steve halfway.</p>
<p>“Hello.”</p>
<p>“Hello, Bucky. Supper is ready.”</p>
<p>“My favorite words.”</p>
<p>“Are they?”</p>
<p>“Second favorite, actually.”</p>
<p>Steve’s eyes flitted down to the ground for a moment, but then they returned to Bucky’s face, they were filled with mischief, and Bucky saw a faint flush rising up into his cheeks. “Then, which words are your favorite?”</p>
<p>“‘Hello, Bucky.’ But, only when <i>you</i> say them.”</p>
<p>“I could indulge you again.”</p>
<p>“Please, do.”</p>
<p>Steve closed the gap between them and took Bucky’s hand shyly, and he kept glancing down at Bucky’s mouth. “Hello, Bucky,” he husked.</p>
<p>“Hello, Steve…”</p>
<p>Standing, Bucky only had to tip his head up a notch to kiss him properly, just a slow, sweet caress while he reached up and curled his fingers around Steve’s nape, letting his fingers scratch lightly through his sandy, thick waves of hair. Bucky moaned his approval when he felt Steve’s hand ease inside the flap of his coat and lay itself against his waist. His palm felt hot through his shirt and vest, and Bucky wanted more of his furtive touch. He kissed him eagerly, teasing him until Steve opened for him, and they dawdled over it a bit, letting their tongues play. They greeted each other as though they hadn’t seen each other in years, like Fate hadn’t <i>literally</i> thrown them together in the barn the other day.</p>
<p>“We made… dumplings…” Steve mumbled through their kisses.</p>
<p>“I can smell them,” Bucky confirmed, but he was reluctant to back away. He chased Steve’s mouth for another kiss, and Steve playfully held him at bay, but it was difficult. </p>
<p>“Then, come in and eat.”</p>
<p>“Might want to come in before supper gets cold!” Billy called out from the doorway, and Bucky snickered as he backed away from Steve and waved to him.</p>
<p>“When is he going home?”</p>
<p>“Bucky, stop that. Just come in. Come sit with us.”</p>
<p>No more hand holding occurred from that moment. Only a brief nudge from Steve toward the house, before they joined Billy at the table for hearty portions of stew and dumplings.</p>
<p>“I saw a man, down the road. He looked like he was riding away from here,” Bucky said.</p>
<p>“He was a surveyor of some sort. Fury, I think he said his name was,” Billy told him. “Poked around a bit. Asked a lot of questions.”</p>
<p>“He wasn’t here too long,” Steve assured him.</p>
<p>“Interesting gentleman,” Bucky agreed. “He waved to me in passing, but I didn’t recognize him.”</p>
<p>“No greeting?” Steve asked, brow furrowing.</p>
<p>“No. Perhaps he was in a rush.”</p>
<p>“Probably had more hardworking folks to interrupt and interfere with right before supper,” Billy suggested. “Take more of the potatoes, Bucky. They’ll keep that skinny arse of yours warm. Even though that’s Steve’s job.”</p>
<p>Bucky’s eyes grew round, and Steve clouted Billy in the shoulder. “Quit it, Billy!”</p>
<p>But Bucky tried and failed, more than once, to hide his smirks at the table. He gave his stew bowl the attention it deserved while the three of them bickered, and it felt comfortable. Easy. Steve ladled the stew into Bucky’s bowl and tasted it briefly before he would let Bucky eat any; he shook a dash of pepper into it first and then nodded to Bucky to go ahead and eat. Billy tsked and shook his head, but he was smirking, pleased.</p>
<p>Steve and Bucky’s hands and knees occasionally bumped as they ate, and neither of them seemed pressed to move apart. They stole glances at one another whenever Billy got up to fetch the pitcher of milk or to check on the cake in the oven. </p>
<p>“So. You said that man was a surveyor?”</p>
<p>“That’s what he said he was,” Billy mumbled through a mouthful of tender beef. “Sure had a lot of questions. He asked us if you worked here.”</p>
<p>That gave Bucky pause. “He asked what?”</p>
<p>“Not like that. Not ‘Does Bucky Barton work here?’ Just if we had anyone else working on the farm every day. Steve mentioned to him that you only come here once in a while, and that you manage us, if you call what you do here ‘managing’. I think that’s overstating things a little bit, don’t you?” Billy’s eyes crinkled in amusement when Bucky threw a bit of cooked carrot at him.</p>
<p>“He was curious about your relation to Clint, too,” Steve added. “I don’t know why.”</p>
<p>Alarm made chills run down Bucky’s spine, and his stomach dipped. “How odd.”</p>
<p>“That’s what we thought. Just kind of kept mentioning it.”</p>
<p>“Why would it matter to him who my family is?” Bucky wondered, even as he panicked. He picked apart his dumpling with his fork, making a show of loading the crumbly fragments onto it and dragging it through the thick broth. “This stew. It’s… it’s marvelous. What did you two put in it?”</p>
<p>“Not my fingers, since I know how to use a knife,” Billy bragged as he directed them to remember the last time Bucky attempted to make anything for supper.</p>
<p>“Other than that, some sage and some nice basil that we had,” Steve added. “Don’t be shy. There’s plenty more, Bucky.”</p>
<p>Bucky gave him a hesitant smile and ducked his face, finding his plate very interesting all of the sudden. Steve poured him a glass of milk and nudged it toward him, and they all continued to enjoy their supper, with the usual round of jokes and farming stories.</p>
<p>“Piotr’s little sister said that she wants to make Bertie a flower crown when the daisies come back into bloom,” Billy said. “That little one’s such a charmer.”</p>
<p>“We haven’t been over there in a while,” Steve said suddenly.</p>
<p>“Where?” Bucky asked, sounding distracted as he continued to eat.</p>
<p>“The Rasputins’ farm. We should go,” Steve told him. “You go there once in a while, to manage, I suppose. But, we should visit just to <i>visit.</i>”</p>
<p>“Steve. Are you really suggesting we <i>take time away from the endless mountain of chores, repairs and outright drudgery and toil</i> to pay the Rasputin family a <i>social visit</i>?” Bucky stared at Steve with exaggerated gravity and placed a hand over his chest.</p>
<p>“Just for a little while.” Steve’s tone was wheedling and fond. “You should come with us, Bucky.”</p>
<p>“They’ll wonder why I’m there,” Bucky told him. “Just wait. They’ll wonder why I’m not asking to go over their ledgers and do an inventory and-”</p>
<p>“Then don’t act like that’s what you’re there for. How’s that for a splendid idea?” Billy said.</p>
<p>“Just a brief visit,” Steve promised. “You were going to be here with us all day, anyway.”</p>
<p>“We’re really going to visit them after dark?”</p>
<p>“Why? Are you scared? Stevie, you’ll have to wrap your big, strong arms around Bucky so he doesn’t cry, he’s afraid of all the beasties that come out at night!”</p>
<p>Bucky threw another chunk of carrot at him, flicking it from his fork. “Will you <i>stop!</i>”</p>
<p>“Bucky! BILLY! Honestly!” </p>
<p>“I can throw food, too, here!” Billy flicked a pea at Steve, and it pinged him on the tip of his nose. Steve’s eyes narrowed and his lips thinned, and Bucky thought he would drag both of them away from the table for a moment, but instead he picked it up and flung it right back across the table at Billy, who had the temerity to duck.</p>
<p>“I don’t know what’s gotten into you two,” Steve muttered. “I won’t let either of you have any of the cake that I made if you don’t behave.”</p>
<p>“Oooooh.” Billy made wavy, scary fingers. “Mind your manners, Mr. Barton. Milord’s keeping a strict eye on us.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>They rode out to the Rasputin’s farm in Bucky’s wagon. Billy rode in the back, while Steve shared a seat beside Bucky while he drove his horses down the darkening rode. Steve held onto their lantern and kept adjusting the blanket over their laps.</p>
<p>“Don’t catch a chill,” Steve chided.</p>
<p>“I’m not the one who caught a fever a little while back,” Bucky reminded him. “At least you wore your good gloves.”</p>
<p>“They’re my only gloves.”</p>
<p>Bucky glanced down at them, noticing a tiny tear across the back of the left one that would surely let in drafts. He made a silent note to pick up a new pair for him, perhaps for Christmas. He wondered, now, what Steve was going to do for the holiday, or if he and Billy even celebrated it. Tiny flurries of snow began to drift down, and he heard Billy shifting in the back of the wagon.</p>
<p>“Glad we already patched the roof,” Billy remarked.</p>
<p>“At least we’ll sleep warm and dry,” Steve agreed.</p>
<p>They continued toward the enormous farm, noticing the bare branches of their expansive cherry orchard and their boundary fence. Thick-fleeced sheep wandered the field, eating the last of the grass before the snow could cover it. </p>
<p>“Bucky.”</p>
<p>“Yes, Stevie?”</p>
<p>“Have you thought about what you plan to do, after?”</p>
<p>“After what?”</p>
<p>“When you don’t have to manage us anymore.”</p>
<p>The stew sat heavily in Bucky’s stomach, suddenly.</p>
<p>“I really hadn’t. I mean… Mr. Barnes. He… he might have other places for me to work.”</p>
<p>It didn’t help that he hadn’t planned for Bucky to work on the Rogers farm in any capacity, except, once, as Steve’s spouse. Bucky still found it ridiculous that George would pay him the same money as an income to work for him that he would have given him, anyway, as a monthly living fund and a dowry to support their lifestyle as a married couple. When Steve balked at Bucky paying for small things, like oil for the lanterns or firewood or the occasional sack of sugar, it chafed him. Steve never should have had to struggle. His uncle shouldn’t have gambled away his inheritance or let the fields lay fallow. And Steve should never have had to arrive at the desperate decision to marry a man he’d never met to escape the threat of eviction.</p>
<p>And George Barnes, wily businessman that he was, knew that the contract he made Steve sign guaranteed that Steve would never own his family estate. There was no way for him to profit with so much working against him, and no staff to help, and with so much damage to undo from his uncle’s terrible handling of <i>everything</i>. It had taken months for Steve to even pay down the debts on all of Mortimer’s accounts in town, and all the credit he’d taken out at various supply stores. He’d started out in the red as it was. To Bucky’s educated eye, Steve’s ledger told a bleak tale, one of the unfairness of the world. Yet Steve pushed forward, every day, still hopeful that his hard work would pay off. </p>
<p>Bucky never wanted Steve to complain to him about buying him sugar again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They arrived at the gate, and Mikhail, Piotr’s older brother, let them in quickly. He was grinning at them and waving them down from the wagon seat. “Come, come. Mama made a nice cider, it will warm you up and put hair on your chest!”</p>
<p>“That sounds lovely!” Bucky told him just as eagerly as they climbed down and followed him into the house. It was a lovely one-story home, but as broad as Steve’s was tall. They also had a larger barn, and Bucky heard the cows mooing in their pens and horses whickering in the stables. </p>
<p>The interior of the house was warm, almost roasting, and Alexandra Rasputin greeted them with smiles from her sitting room. She set down her basket of knitting and moved toward the doorway, hands extended.</p>
<p>“Hello, sweet Steven,” she greeted, clasping his hands and giving his bearded cheek a fond pat. “You look well! And well fed!”</p>
<p>“Hello, madam. We just finished some stew,” he told her. “Billy’s quite handy in the kitchen.”</p>
<p>“And we brought over some of the cake,” Bucky added.</p>
<p>“Thankfully, Billy made that, too,” Steve joked, and she chuckled, nodding.</p>
<p>“I already know how you are in the kitchen. You should always paint, instead, Stepuschka.”</p>
<p>Billy barked a laugh, and she reached up to ruffle his dark curls with her freckled, arthritic hand. Illyana, the youngest member of the family, ran up and cajoled hugs from each of their guests, and Steve let her stand on his feet and walked her around the room. “You’ve grown so big!”</p>
<p>“I’m going to be big as Piotr!” she boasted.</p>
<p>“Hardly,” her mother muttered hopefully. “Then I’ll have <i>three</i> giants eating me out of house and home.”</p>
<p>She sat everyone down at the table with cups of spicy tea, sweet biscuits, tiny profiteroles, and the cake they brought. They chatted easily about the canning and meats that they’d managed to cure and put up before the first frost. </p>
<p>“We’ll no doubt have a new calf or two by spring,” Mikhail boasted. </p>
<p>“Then you’ll have to take out your violin and play for them, too, like you did the rest,” Billy told him as he placed a sugar cube under his tongue and took a generous swig of tea. Bucky took a careful sip of the cider that was offered to him and noticed it had quite the kick, mildly fermented and flavored with strong notes of cinnamon, cloves and orange peel; perhaps it <i>would</i> grow some hair on his chest.</p>
<p>“I still find this hard to believe,” Bucky said.</p>
<p>“What? That Mikhail plays for the cows? It really does sweeten the milk,” Billy insisted. “Not like you’d know anyway, Barton. You have a hard enough time just getting it into the pail!”</p>
<p>“Nonsense. Bucky and Bertie have developed a very fond friendship,” Steve said as he gently clapped Bucky’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. The Rasputins watched the two of them, quietly noticing how closely they sat, how each one took turns staring while the other one spoke.</p>
<p>“I merely give her the respect she demands.”</p>
<p>“If I play for her, she will love me, too, probably,” Mikhail challenged. He went into the other room and took down his violin case. He brought it out to the chaise and unlocked the clips, and then he lifted the gleaming instrument from its velvet-lined nest. It had a dark cherry finish and was in pristine condition. Illyana bounced eagerly in her seat as he plucked a few strings, checking its tune and adjusting the knobs. “Piotr. Help Papa move the table.”</p>
<p>Piotr grinned, nodding. “Barynya?”</p>
<p>“Of course.”</p>
<p>Illyana crowed in delight and clapped her hands, and she rose from her seat and started twirling around to make her skirt fly out in a broad circle.</p>
<p>“Barynya?” Bucky asked Billy, leaning in for clarification.</p>
<p>“You won’t forget this. We picked the perfect night to come.”</p>
<p>But before Mikhail could set the bow atop the strings, they heard a knock at the door, and Piotr rushed to greet this new visitor.</p>
<p>“Teddy! You’ve come just in time! Mikhail has his violin out, and we’ve just brought out cider!”</p>
<p>Steve and Bucky exchanged pleased smirks when Teddy stomped the snow off his boots before he entered the kitchen, and he removed his cap, exposing his slightly tousled, brassy blond hair and rosy cheeks. “It’s chilly out… oh. Evening, Billy.”</p>
<p>Billy gave him a brief wave, and his expression was flustered but pleased. Bucky was tickled to notice that he flushed all the way up to his hairline, and he planned to tease him about it at the earliest opportunity, once they returned home. “Hello, Teddy. Wasn’t expecting to see you.”</p>
<p>“Piotr told me that your mother made her cider. I could never miss that. Or Mikhail’s violin.”</p>
<p>“Or the barynya,” Nikolai Rasputin added. Teddy watched the Rasputin patriarch do a few quick steps of the dance and then grinned at him, rubbing his hands together.</p>
<p>They moved the table to the side of the room, and Mikhail bent his knee and lifted his stockinged foot up onto the ottoman with a flourish before he began to play the first strains of a rousing song.</p>
<p>Bucky, Steve and Billy had already removed their heavy coats and hats, but now they loosened their shirts, unbuttoning their collars and rolling up their sleeves to accommodate the heat from the fireplace and the kitchen. The cider and the music made them relax and unwind from the day’s labors, and Teddy sidled up to Billy, leaning against the wall behind him until Piotr fetched an extra chair, and when he pulled it up to allow himself to see the parlor and the beginning of Nikolai’s opening steps, he and Billy were shoulder to shoulder, knees knocked companionably together, and Teddy’s big hand landed on Billy’s shoulder. What would have normally been a brief, playful squeeze became a proprietary claim.</p>
<p>“You feel all tight and stiff,” he murmured. “You have some kinks to work out.”</p>
<p>Billy scoffed under his breath, shaking his head, but his expression was pleased. “We have liniment.”</p>
<p>“I could help you with that.”</p>
<p>Steve watched Billy’s flush darken even further and bit his lip. Then, they gave Nikolai their attention as Alexandra, Piotr and Illyana began to clap.</p>
<p>The next few minutes found them enthralled by their host’s flexibility and spry agility as he moved through the dance with high kicks and deep, squatting dips that made Bucky relieved that they thought to move the furniture, and that the Rasputins had a spacious parlor. Alexandra eventually gave her husband a curtsy, with an elegant flourish, and she lifted a shawl onto her shoulders before greeting him in the center of the floor. The dance reminded Bucky of a reel; he’d certainly seen enough of them at his friends’ parents balls while he studied at Pembroke, but this took more skill than simply meeting your partner at the right moment in a polite clasp of hands. Nikolai’s legs were elastic and his steps were adept with every movement, and Alexandra danced with him as though they had partnered for years. Illyana eventually joined them, briefly taking her mother’s place for a slightly less elegant, but no less enthusiastic turn around the floor. She returned to her brother Piotr’s lap, where she clapped with him as a counterpoint to Mikhail’s playing.</p>
<p>It was wonderful, and happy, and spontaneous, and it made a strange excitement stir in Bucky’s chest. It hit him, then.</p>
<p>This was what he wanted.</p>
<p>Friends. Family. Gathering by the fire and listening to clever, lilting music after supper once the chores were finished. Bucky didn’t want to just spend the entire day in his father’s office, working on ledgers for the rest of his days. He wanted to live on a farm, and listen to Billy or whomever Steve ever hired going forward teasing them, and he wanted to do the canning with Sam on clear afternoons and write at night with the sconces lit. He wanted to help Billy come up with increasingly ridiculous names for the cows and wake up with the roosters and chase the turkeys from the edge of the water troughs. He wanted to read to Steve when he was ailing, or even if he wasn’t. He wanted to show him his manuscripts when he was feeling inspired and share chocolate truffles with him at his “cousin” Clint’s shop, once the air was cleared about who he really was.</p>
<p>Yet, there it was. Bucky’s ploy to get himself into the Rogers house and farm could prove to be his undoing.</p>
<p>But he couldn’t look at Steve, and listen to his deep, warm laugh without tingling with so many different emotions. Even now, he was patting Bucky’s knee under the table. Bucky let his legs splay open so their thighs were flush against each other, and Steve glanced at him, giving him a lopsided smile. His eyes were gleaming from laughter and the cider.</p>
<p>“Glad you came?” he murmured as the music played on.</p>
<p>“You couldn’t keep me away.”</p>
<p>Bucky’s hand unclenched in his lap, and he toyed with a loose thread in the weave of his trousers absently, then looked up in surprise when Steve’s palm covered the back of his hand. Bucky turned his to let their fingers lace themselves together, and he felt his heart pounding with the contact. </p>
<p>
  <i>Steve.</i>
</p>
<p>This was it, Bucky realized. This was how it felt to see your future in someone’s eyes.</p>
<p>Tingling. Steve was tingling everywhere. Bucky was staring at him with those big, soft eyes like liquid diamonds, and a faint smile on those lips, the smile he seemed to save just for Steve, and Steve couldn’t stop the rush of sensation as his skin felt like warm prickles were running all over it.</p>
<p>All just from holding his hand.</p>
<p>There were no stumbles from the hay loft to justify the close contact, now. It was happening out of desire, not by accident. Bucky’s hands had a few calluses, now, from the past few months of working outside, but they still weren’t as work-roughened as Steve’s. Steve enjoyed his fingers, with their short, neat nails and nimble dexterity when he performed fine tasks or lifted his teacup by its delicate handle. He remembered with a brief rush of lust how it felt to have those hands moving over him, swabbing his skin with cool cloths and smoothing back his hair. He remembered how husky and soft his voice sounded in the dark as he read him his childhood favorites and reminded him to drink his tea.</p>
<p>Everything in that moment lived in Bucky’s eyes, in his snug, warm grip, until Billy broke the spell.</p>
<p>“Well, get up, you two!”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“You’re the only one still sitting down. It’s time to practice that waltz. The Season’s starting in springtime. Might as well practice for those ballrooms, yeah?” Billy was already on his feet, and Teddy was looking smug as he pulled him against him, arm wrapped possessively around his waist.</p>
<p>“What?” Steve repeated Bucky’s reaction, looking perplexed. “Oh, no. No, we can’t-”</p>
<p>“Of course you can!” Piotr urged mischievously. He reached out and tugged Bucky to his feet before he even realized what was happening, and for Piotr, who topped Bucky in height by at <i>least</i> six inches and who was prodigiously strong, this wasn’t difficult. He tugged Steve up next, shoved the two of them together, and Steve caught Bucky as he stumbled forward from the momentum. Both men looked stunned for a moment, but Steve’s arms tightened around Bucky, an instant reflex. Bucky’s smile was embarrassed.</p>
<p>“Well.”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t expecting this when I suggested we come here tonight,” Steve muttered.</p>
<p>“Any time you come here, when Mikhail takes out his violin and plays, Stepuschka, you will dance!” Alexandra informed him proudly. “That is one of the most important rules of this house!” Beside her, Illyana nodded her bright blonde head and smiled impishly.</p>
<p>“But, I can’t dance-”</p>
<p>“I’ll bet Mr. Fancy Pants here can, though,” Billy teased, eyeing Bucky up and down. “I bet he’s been to a few balls and society functions, what with all of his proper table manners and such.”</p>
<p>“We really don’t have to do this, Bucky,” Steve told him apologetically, and his blue eyes were filled with panic, but Bucky shrugged, and to Steve’s utter frustration, Bucky took his hand in his right, and slid the other around Steve’s waist. “Oh, no…”</p>
<p>“Oh, yes, Mr. Rogers. Charmed if you would do me the honor…”</p>
<p>“<i>Oh, no.</i>.”</p>
<p>Mikhail had paused in his playing for a moment, then smirked and played again, this time a soft, lilting waltz that Bucky easily recognized. He began to hum a bit of the melody in his soothing, soft, deep voice, and Steve stammered at him. “Bucky, don’t get any bright ideas about this, I cannot dance, I am not the least bit light on my feet-”</p>
<p>“It’s less arduous than wrestling a pig, I promise you,” Bucky joked as he pulled him closer to the center of the parlor, to the Rasputin family’s delight. Steve wanted to run and hide, Bucky saw it in his eyes, two pools of opal filled with panic, yet…</p>
<p>...and yet.</p>
<p>He couldn’t let go of Bucky, or resist his satisfied smile, or the invitation in his voice. Bucky knew him well by now. Steve enjoyed touch, and these rare, bright opportunities to be close. Intimate, despite that they were in the open. Then, there was the Rogers Bravado, something Bucky also knew just from the local gossip. Steve Rogers never backed down from an argument or from a chance to defend anyone he thought deserved justice or protection. And Bucky knew that he never wanted anyone to lack that justice, or that dignity, the way he must have lacked it himself. Society had no love and too little pity for orphans who lacked wealthy relations to take them in, but Steven Rogers persevered. He studied and toiled and struggled, and somehow, he managed to bloom where he was planted. No matter how much piled on top of him, he still pushed through the layers until he reached the sunlight.</p>
<p>And right now, Bucky’s smile was the sun.</p>
<p>And Bucky was urging him into the steps, and he tried to look down, but Bucky briefly caught his jaw and made him watch his face, his eyes.</p>
<p>“You’ll get it.” </p>
<p>“I can’t!”</p>
<p>“You can. You <i>will</i>.” As Steve stumbled slightly, Bucky counted for him. “One-two-three, one-two-three, turn-two-three, one-two-three… And, you <i>are</i>. Look at you.”</p>
<p>“Bucky…”</p>
<p>“Now, look at me. At <i>me</i>. If you watch my face, your feet will follow.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know what I’m doing!”</p>
<p>“Yet, you’re doing it!”</p>
<p>Steve shook his head, but Nikolai and Alexandra were dancing, and Illyana looked eager to cut in. Piotr obliged her instead, and let her ride his feet as they fell into her older brother’s rhythm. Billy and Teddy were dancing together as though, perhaps, this wasn’t their first waltz. They were chuckling softly to each other and nodding at Steve and Bucky from the other side of the floor.</p>
<p>And then, Steve felt it. Felt the brief press of Bucky’s hand at his waist, and the gentle pressure against his palm at the third count, with each repetition. There it was. The right moment to turn right. And again. And again.</p>
<p>And Bucky’s eyes crinkled as he chuckled at him. “That’s not so bad, is it?”</p>
<p>“You better pray I don’t step on your toes.”</p>
<p>“Can’t be any worse than falling out of the loft. Or nearly tumbling off the roof. Or getting kicked by a cow. This is by far the most pleasant activity we’ve shared since I’ve known you.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Is it?”</p>
<p>“So far.”</p>
<p>“Mmm.” Steve’s eyes flicked away for a moment, but then he leaned in and murmured into Bucky’s ear:</p>
<p>“So <i>far</i>.”</p>
<p>Bucky’s eyes grew round, and Steve eased himself closer, leaving the most infinitesimal of gaps between them. Bucky’s cheeks were hot and his body was tingling with the continued contact with Steve. </p>
<p>But then, Illyana broke the trance when she poked Bucky’s side with her stubby finger and gestured impatiently to him to cut in, and Steve laughed and let her partner him for the next couple of turns around the room, while Nikolai - Nikolai! - grabbed Bucky and led him about more gracefully than Steve had, but not held as close.</p>
<p>“See, you know the steps,” he confirmed. Bucky could only laugh and let himself be swept up, and after a few minutes, he found himself partnering each member of the party, including Billy. Billy was surprisingly adept and he never faltered over the counts or at letting Bucky lead.</p>
<p>“Don’t get any ideas, Fancy Pants.”</p>
<p>“Wouldn’t dream of it.”</p>
<p>Both of them were smirking and snickering, and Billy told him, “Don’t expect me to dip you.”</p>
<p>“I’m not the man for the job.”</p>
<p>The man for the job was surprisingly well matched with Steve, and they made a striking pair. Teddy, just as tall and blond as Steve and equally brawny from life on the farm, had no problem knowing where to place his hands, but he kept chuckling at Steve’s expense. Soon, <i>both</i> of them were, and Steve finally begged off.</p>
<p>“I think that’s enough of a dance lesson for now.”</p>
<p>Teddy nodded, releasing him easily, and he looked on as Teddy twirled Illyana around. His expression was as fond as it was amused. Steve tried to escape to his seat, but Bucky caught him again.</p>
<p>“You’re supposed to move on to the next partner on your dance card.”</p>
<p>“Oh, look, I seem to have misplaced mine…”</p>
<p>“Then, we will just have to get you a new one.”</p>
<p>“Or, we could just have some more of this nice tea. And a profiterole. Have one, you like chocolate.”</p>
<p>“Don’t change the subject. Get back here!”</p>
<p>And Bucky tugged Steve back from the table, and he heard Mikhail’s whoop of glee as he played another sweet waltz.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They left a couple of hours later, after enjoying more tea, sweets, some fine cognac, and Alexandra and Nikolai’s stories of when they first moved into town, when Mikhail was small enough for them to bounce on their hip. Steve and Bucky were tired, and to their relief, they were alone. Billy left with Teddy this time, and Steve and Bucky huddled closer on the ride home than they had before they left, just enjoying the night sounds and the crunch of hooves in the crisp snow.</p>
<p>“That was pleasant,” Bucky mused.</p>
<p>“Told you.” Steve’s cheeks were rosy from the cognac and the night air, and they were bundled in together beneath the heavy blankets while Bucky drove the horses. Under the blankets, Steve’s hand found a comfortable resting place on Bucky’s thigh. Bucky felt his manhood wake up and strain for contact in response.</p>
<p>“<i>Steve.</i>”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“Your hand, sir.”</p>
<p>“It’s cold.”</p>
<p>“Despite your gloves?”</p>
<p>“It’s brisk out tonight.”</p>
<p>“I thought you always ran warm.”</p>
<p>“Sometimes. It would be nice not to lose heat and catch a chill, though.”</p>
<p>“Wouldn’t want you to fall ill again,” Bucky agreed.</p>
<p>“Unless you want to spend more time at my bedside, mopping my fevered brow,” Steve joked. His tone was light, but his expression was suggestive, and Bucky saw his eyes darken with the beginnings of… lust. “Billy teased me about that tonight before you arrived.”</p>
<p>“About being sick?” Bucky feigned outrage.</p>
<p>Steve tsked and shook his head, and his fingers slide down the firm, supple curve of his thigh, gently kneading it, and Bucky’s words didn’t want to form on his tongue anymore. “About keeping you warm.”</p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>“Mmm-hmm.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bucky snapped the reins slightly, needing to reach Steve’s house much more urgently. “Easy, Bucky.”</p>
<p>“Hush, Steve. Just sit there quietly and warm your hands.”</p>
<p>Steve snickered at that, and Bucky longed to be back in Steve’s house already, stoking the fire and heating up a brick to take upstairs to warm the sheets. The ride took too long, with Steve’s fingers continuing their furtive work, massaging Bucky through the heavy fabric of his trousers, fingertips dancing along his inseam. His palm slid down over the slope of muscle until his pinkie slipped into the crease of Bucky’s groin. Heat suffused Bucky’s flesh.</p>
<p>“Damn it, Stevie…”</p>
<p>“Keep driving, Bucky. We’re almost there.”</p>
<p><i>Almost there.</i> Bucky wanted to pull the horses to a halt and reach for him, hungry to taste the last fleeting hint of cognac and sweets from his lips. But the reward for the wait was immeasurable, and imminent.</p>
<p>They rounded the bend in the road at last, and Steve separated from him to open the gates. Bucky drove the wagon in, and when he climbed down from the seat, Steve met him eagerly, reaching for him. They kissed in the dark, faces illuminated by the lantern, and their bulky coats were a frustrating barrier to their roaming hands. For a while, they just let it happen, the langorous slide and caress, while listening to each other breathe. </p>
<p>“I wanted this all night,” Steve admitted. His voice was a raw, desperate husk.</p>
<p>“Let’s stable the horses. And let’s warm you up. Quickly.”</p>
<p>Steve nodded, kissing him again before they unhitched the horses and led them into the barn. Then, Bucky followed Steve into the house, letting him pull him along by the hand as he carried in their lantern. They came inside, and once in the kitchen, Steve sat down and removed his hat and gloves.</p>
<p>“Can’t wait to get out of these boots, my toes feel like ice,” he grumbled.</p>
<p>“Let me help.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, Buck.” Bucky knelt down before him and Steve extended his leg. Bucky grasped the boot and gave it a strong tug, pulling it off. He kneaded Steve’s foot, squeezing it to encourage circulation. “You’re better than using a boot jack.”</p>
<p>“At your service, Mr. Rogers.”</p>
<p>Steve’s eyes crinkled, and he shook his head as Bucky worked on the other boot. He pried it off and massaged that leg, too, before he raised up on his knees and eased himself between Steve’s splayed thighs. “Now, Steve. About that little thing you were doing in the wagon…”</p>
<p>“Was that impertinent?”</p>
<p>“Very much so, sir.” Bucky’s hands settled on Steve’s hips, while Steve took their closeness as a perfect opportunity to unwind Bucky’s scarf from his throat and unbutton his coat, removing his wool cap. “I may have to teach you some of my ‘fancy manners,’ as Billy calls them.”</p>
<p>Steve nodded, and Bucky enjoyed the way his eyes crinkled and the way he bit the edge of his lip. “What were you planning to teach me first?”</p>
<p>“How to address me. And how to say ‘Please’ and ‘Thank you.’”</p>
<p>“Thank you for bringing us safely home, Bucky.”</p>
<p>Steve undid the last button and reached inside his coat to slide it down from his shoulders. Bucky’s body felt warm and solid as Steve’s hands began to explore him, and he leaned in and kissed him, just a light, fleeting caress. Bucky chased his lips for more, and his fingers curled around Steve’s hips while his coat pooled around his legs, landing on the floor behind him. They kissed slowly, enjoying the silence of the kitchen, and Bucky withdrew sharply, shocking Steve from his stupor. He looked kiss-drunk and aroused, and Bucky needed to get him upstairs.</p>
<p>“Bucky…”</p>
<p>“We need to stoke the fire.”</p>
<p>“Bucky, in a moment, just-”</p>
<p>“How do you ask me to kiss you again, Stevie?”</p>
<p>An exasperated breath burst from Steve’s lips, but Bucky’s fingers began to unfasten Steve’s coat, and they moved onto the top buttons at the waistband of his trousers. Steve tried to kiss him again, but Bucky leaned back. “How? What do you say?”</p>
<p>“Bucky-”</p>
<p>“I can’t hear you. And I might have to climb back into my wagon if someone doesn’t ask me properly, using the right words.”</p>
<p>“Bucky. Please kiss me. I’m <i>begging</i> you.”</p>
<p>“Ah.”</p>
<p>And this time, when he captured his mouth, the kiss was hard, urgent and hungry, and when Steve opened his eyes and stared down into Bucky’s eyes, they were dark and dilated, and hazy with lust and need. He nodded and kissed him again, nipping at his lower lip, sucking on it and earning himself a drawn-out groan. Steve opened for him, and Bucky’s tongue swept inside his mouth, stroking him, hot and velvety smooth.</p>
<p>Bucky continued to kiss him and relieve him of his outer clothes, divesting him of his gloves one finger at a time, unbuttoning his shirt and the row of smaller ones on his long johns.</p>
<p>“Stoke the fire, Bucky.”</p>
<p>They went upstairs, almost reluctant to pull away from each other even that long. Bucky hung their coats on the pegs and allowed Steve to tug him upstairs, both of them in their stocking feet with their clothing gaping open. They stoked up the fire in the small stove upstairs, and Bucky laid a heating brick near the flames. Steve closed the bedroom door softly behind him and reached for him. His expression was unreadable, but his grip was possessive as he pulled Bucky close. </p>
<p>The scant height difference between them meant Bucky had to tilt his head up slightly to kiss him while they stood, but he didn’t mind. His palms felt cool against Steve’s cheeks, and he seemed intrigued by the texture of Steve’s coarse, thick beard. As the room warmed, they explored each other slowly, not wanting to expose each other too quickly to the cold. Bucky pulled him toward the bed and sat down on it first, letting Steve step between his knees before he reached again for Steve’s waistband.</p>
<p>“You knew what you were doing, touching me like that earlier,” Bucky scolded.</p>
<p>“My hands were cold, Bucky.” Steve didn’t sound the least bit contrite. Bucky tugged the tails of his shirt from his waistband and pulled his trousers, drawing them down his thighs. They were muscular and beautifully tapered, and Bucky saw the bulge of Steve’s cock straining at the fabric of his long johns. He ran an appreciative hand down Steve’s side, and he watched his manhood twitch and strain toward him for attention. </p>
<p>“Can’t let you catch a chill, can we, Stevie?” Steve returned Bucky’s smirk and gave his legs a brief shake to make his trousers drop the rest of the way down to his ankles. He stepped out of them and kicked them aside, and he combed his fingers through Bucky’s gleaming, dark waves of hair, enjoying its softness. He bent down and kissed Bucky again as Bucky worked on the rest of the buttons to his long johns and parted the flaps, like he was opening a present. “But, I still need to see you.”</p>
<p>“Look all you like.” Steve’s voice was soft and encouraging. Welcoming. His posture was open and relaxed as Bucky pulled the sleeves down from his shoulders, exposing their broadness and strength. Steve was beautiful, a pillar of sculpted muscle and taut, supple skin, and his flat, tannish pink nipples were pebbling from the chill in the room. Bucky leaned in and kissed one, lips feather-light and ticklish, making Steve shiver. He moaned when Bucky drew it into his mouth and sucked on it and flicked deft fingers over the other. The sensation shot straight into his groin when Bucky hummed his approval of how Steve tasted. Bucky dragged his mouth across Steve’s sternum, over his gorgeous pectorals, and gave the other nipple equal treatment, enjoying its response. Steve’s body was <i>so</i> responsive to touch. To taste. Bucky kissed down the length of Steve’s ribcage, enjoying how it made him quiver, and he followed the faint, sandy trail of hair down his abdomen to his navel and teased it with his tongue.</p>
<p>“That’s ticklish,” Steve hissed, but he was still aroused and scratching his nails through Bucky’s hair, kneading his nape.</p>
<p>“Sorry.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t say I minded…” Steve’s words cut off on a brief gasp as Bucky descended further, lavishing his skin with open-mouthed, heated kisses that finally reached his groin, and Steve had to grip Bucky’s shoulder for support when his knees nearly gave out. Bucky’s finger curled itself inside the bottom of the flap in Steve’s long johns and tugged down the crotch to allow Steve’s turgid length to bob free of its confines. Bucky breathed over its tip, making it twitch again, and the tip of his tongue darted out to lap at the plump head. Steve’s blunt nails were scritching down Bucky’s back, and Bucky felt his fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt until Steve had a good handful of it twisted in his fist. He tugged on it, pulling the tails of Bucky’s shirt from his waistband, but he couldn’t focus on the task yet once Bucky opened his mouth and drew Steve inside his slick, welcoming heat.</p>
<p>Bucky moaned around him, sending vibrations through his flesh, and Steve arched into it, letting all reason flee his mind. Nothing could feel that good without being absolutely <i>sinful.</i> Bucky’s tongue flattened against him and he descended, pulled back, and slid down again, taking his time. </p>
<p>“Please…”</p>
<p>There was that magic word again. Bucky would avidly teach him this lesson.</p>
<p>“<i>Please</i>, Bucky…”</p>
<p>Oh, Stevie…</p>
<p>Steve’s hands were pulling at him, still trying to wrest his shirt from him, but he needed to hold onto Bucky to keep him from moving too far away, and he couldn’t make up his mind what to do next when Bucky’s mouth felt so good sealed around his stiffening flesh. Steve was almost swaying on his feet, and each time he tipped forward, it brought him further into Bucky’s mouth. He didn’t see this as a problem.</p>
<p>Nor did Bucky, if the way he closed his eyes in rapture was any indication. His fingers were still hooked into the crotch of the long johns, skimming against the warm globes of flesh beneath Steve’s cock. Bucky kept sucking on him, nearly whimpering at his taste and the weight of him in his mouth, finally, after months of wondering how it would feel. In the back of Bucky’s mind, this was the wedding night they had missed out on, filled with leisurely exploration and desire. Steve’s body felt like it was meant for Bucky, and Steve was just as eager to get Bucky naked.</p>
<p>“Don’t hide. I’ll get you under the covers, Bucky, but don’t hide. You’re lovely. You know that, don’t you?” Steve’s voice was husky and it stroked over Bucky’s nerve endings just right. “Beautiful blue eyes… and your mouth…”</p>
<p>Bucky hummed mischievously and glanced up at him through his lashes, but he didn’t let Steve free from his mouth.</p>
<p>Steve had grown tired of Bucky’s clothing, and he tugged at the shirt. Bucky chuckled in surprise when he found himself shoved back momentarily to allow Steve to finally jerk the offending shirt off over his head, annoyed with the troublesome buttons, and the long johns he wore exasperated him, too. Bucky tried to lean in and take Steve’s cock back into his mouth, but Steve held him back - even though it was immensely difficult. “Too many clothes,” Steve muttered, even though his own long johns were now hammocked around his thighs. He worked open Bucky’s buttons quickly, accepting Bucky’s brief kiss and not-quite-contrite grin.</p>
<p>“It’s amusing to see you like this.”</p>
<p>“How?”</p>
<p>“Impatient.”</p>
<p>“Just don’t tell me that you’re amused by my nudity, or we can end this right-”</p>
<p>“No. Never.”</p>
<p>That made Steve smirk, and he kissed Bucky as he peeled open his undergarment, and oh. What a sight. </p>
<p>Months of farm work had hardened Bucky’s physique. Steve vaguely remembered an artist’s sketch of a statue Dr. Banner showed him, once, from his travels. <i>Discobolus.</i> The motion of the figure captured in stone was breathtaking and beggared Steve’s imagination. He couldn’t fathom the skill it took to hew those muscles in cool, pale stone with nothing but a chisel, but Bucky looked like he could have hefted the discus in his own hand after being lured out of his expensive clothing for an afternoon. Bucky’s shoulders weren’t quite as broad as Steve’s, but they were impressively muscled and smooth. Steve remembered, also, a textbook of anatomy that he’d studied on a whim. His mind catalogued each muscle group as he studied Bucky’s body and ran his hands appreciatively over his skin. <i>Trapezius. Scapula. Tricep. Pectoral. Quadricep.</i> </p>
<p>Steve sank to his knees and finished opening the fastenings on Bucky’s trousers and made him lift up before he jerked them down around his knees. He stared up into Bucky’s amused face and saw how flushed his skin was and the amusement dancing in his eyes. </p>
<p>“You’re laughing.”</p>
<p>“No. I’m happy.”</p>
<p>Steve’s hands paused in pulling open the flaps of his undergarments. “Are you?”</p>
<p>“Steve. You make me happy.”</p>
<p>Fresh color flooded Steve’s cheeks. His smile was slow and disbelieving, and his eyes were soft. “Do I?”</p>
<p>“Yes. You make me very happy, Stevie.”</p>
<p>Bucky was leaning back on the heels of his hands, watching his reaction to his words, and he reached out and cupped Steve’s jaw in his face. “I’m happy <i>here</i>. With <i>you.</i>”</p>
<p>Steve leaned into the caress and kissed Bucky’s palm, and then he finished undressing him in earnest.</p>
<p>Moments later, they eased under the covers, and Steve covered Bucky’s body with his own, lending him his heat as they kissed. They lay tangled together, craving the slow slide of skin against skin. Bucky loved the soft scratch of Steve’s beard against his flesh wherever his lips landed, and Steve loved the taut cords of Bucky’s elegant throat, and the faint, bluish veins mapped along his arms and chest. Bucky arched up beneath him and let Steve drink kisses from his mouth and caress him <i>everywhere</i>. Bucky had placed the warming brick at the foot of the bed beneath the covers to warm the sheets, and the room slowly heated up from the stove, making their nudity a luxury. Steve learned all the ways Bucky liked to be kissed, and he just caressed and kneaded, and nibbled and lapped at his flesh and played with him as the night stretched on. Bucky moved with Steve as he rutted against him in a gradual rhythm, and his tongue’s hot, deep strokes simulated the urgent press of his cock against Bucky’s own. Passion burned between them, hot, welcome and inevitable. Their limbs tangled together and Steve reached down to adjust himself for comfort, until Bucky interfered with his efforts and moved his hand to grip his length, instead. Steve smothered a laugh, but he realized the opportunity Bucky presented him with, and he caught Bucky’s cock against his, sheathing them both inside his loose fist. He thrust into his own grip, and Bucky’s eyes shuttered as he tipped his head back into the pillow. </p>
<p>“Yes. God, yes, Steve… please.”</p>
<p>“More?”</p>
<p>“More. Please.”</p>
<p>Everything felt new. Bucky knew in his body and soul that he had always been waiting for Steve, and for this night. No matter whenever else he’d been touched or kissed or heard his name called out in passion, this was the first time that it mattered. What Steve sometimes lacked in eloquence, he made up for in effort. And he looked so appealing every time his hips dipped down to meet him. Bucky couldn’t help but peer down into the gap between them where the covers fell away to watch the movement of their cocks. Steve was leaking clear, warm droplets that dampened Bucky’s belly. Bucky ran his hands down Steve’s ass, squeezing its hard, ripe curves. Steve made a noise of approval and kissed Bucky hard and deep.</p>
<p>They rolled until Bucky found himself on top of Steve, and a feverish need to kiss him everywhere returned. He peeled the covers down, craving the sight of him again, and Steve smiled up at him and cupped Bucky’s cheek in his big palm.</p>
<p>“You can stay under the blankets if you’re still chilled, sweetheart.”</p>
<p>“When I’m finished. I need to do this first.”</p>
<p>“Do what?”</p>
<p>“Make you thank me this time. We went over ‘Please.’ Let’s revisit ‘Thank you.’”</p>
<p>Bucky was kissing him between words and moving down Steve’s throat, making him chuckle. “That still tickles. It’s nice, but it tickles.” He tangled his fingers in Bucky’s hair as he descended, lapping a hot trail down his collarbones and down his sternum. Steve’s chest jumped at the sensation of Bucky’s kisses and his hot breath swirling over his skin. “S’nice,” he repeated softly. “I enjoy that mouth of yours, Bucky.”</p>
<p>Bucky’s laughter was low and smug as he retraced his earlier trail down Steve’s stomach, back down to his waiting cock. Steve lifted the flap of the covers to give Bucky room and light, and it aroused him no end to see his dark head dip down as he pulled him inside his mouth once more.</p>
<p>
  <i>oh</i>
</p>
<p>This was nice. Steve gave Bucky unfettered access to his treasures, legs splayed open wide with his arms flung carelessly over his head. Bucky’s head dipped and chased Steve in a building rhythm. His elegant cheeks looked chiseled and hollowed out as he sucked him down, mouth stretched open wide as he took Steve. He was humming again, a low, sweet, lilting sound that rippled through Steve, making his hips jerk in an attempt to push himself further into it. Steve’s body moved of its own volition. The primitive urge to claim Bucky’s mouth made him do undignified things; he clutched Bucky’s hair so tightly that his scalp smarted, but Bucky didn’t flinch. He seemed to like Steve’s possessiveness and only increased his efforts, swallowing down the building trickles that leaked from the tip. Bucky shouldered himself under Steve’s legs, letting his calves hang down his back and creating a nook for himself between his thighs. His hands were curled around them and he squeezed and kneaded them as he sucked Steve’s cock and breathed in his musky scent. Steve gripped the pillow and cried out unintelligibly, so glad that they were alone.</p>
<p>“Bucky! <i>BUCKY!</i> Please… oh, my… <i>Bucky.</i> Please. Oh, dear God…”</p>
<p>
Pleasure was crawling down Steve’s spine and building up in his groin. His abdomen was so tense, and every muscle in his thighs was stiff and rock-hard. Steve’s breathing was choppy and uneven, and he heard the slick lapping sounds and Bucky’s own broken gasps as he worked to push Steve over the edge. Steve’s cock grew rosy and slick, and he felt the first cramp of climax coming, and he tapped Bucky’s shoulder frantically to give him the chance to pull off, but Bucky hummed a polite denial and sped up his thrusts.
</p>
<p>
Steve’s release shuddered out of him slowly, making every muscle clench and tingle deliciously as he spurted down Bucky’s throat. Bucky groaned around him and swallowed, again and again, until he drained him of every last drop. He stroked the tender, sensitive flesh of Steve’s inner thighs as he bobbed his head to catch the last of it. 
</p>
<p>
Steve basked in the glow, limp and spent, and he caressed Bucky’s hair as Bucky recovered, still gently drawing on his flesh, unwilling to let him go quite yet. He slowly slid off and kissed the head, and Bucky laid his cheek against Steve’s hip. Steve just kept combing his fingers through his hair as his breathing began to slow.
</p>
<p>
“Thank you,” he murmured.
</p>
<p>
“You’re welcome, Stevie.”
</p>
<p>
Steve hummed in pleasure. He reached down to pull Bucky up until he laid flush against him once more, pulled the covers over them both, and wrapped Bucky in his arms for more caresses and slow, dreamy kisses.
</p>
<p>
 After a few minutes, Steve gave Bucky’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Will you stay?”</p>
<p>
“Tonight? Of course, Stevie. It’s dark out, and I don’t plan to-”
</p>
<p>
“Not just tonight. I mean about what we were talking about before. In the wagon.”
</p>
<p>
“You asked me what I think about it. If I think about it. And I do, Steve. I have. It’s…” Bucky struggled to find the right words. “If… if you think you need me, then I would like to stay. Not just to manage, but to really work, and-”
</p>
<p>
“You <i>do</i> really work. And that’s helpful, Bucky. You’ve done so much. But that’s…” Steve exhaled slowly and caressed light patterns onto Bucky’s skin, kissing the edge of his hairline. “I don’t know how to describe what I want.”
</p>
<p>
 “Just spit it out, then. It’s not complicated, Stevie.”
</p>
<p>
“Except that it is. This just complicated things.”
</p>
<p>
Bucky snickered against his chest. “How, Steve?”
</p>
<p>
“Because I wanted to court you properly.” Steve’s hand rose and fell in brief, mock defeat. “This changed our business relationship considerably.”
</p>
<p>
Bucky laughed outright, and he felt relieved when Steve laughed too, in low, smug giggles that made his eyes crinkle and his nose scrunch up in ways that Bucky found adorable.
</p>
<p>
“Our business relationship,” Bucky teased. “Honestly, Steven. You’re absolutely ridiculous.”
</p>
<p>
“I suppose I never claimed otherwise.”
</p>
<p>
“Mmmmm.”
</p>
<p>
“I know I didn’t give you much credit when you first came here. Not for how quickly you could learn your way, or for how smart you are with numbers. Or how flexible you could be with Billy.”
</p>
<p>
“Flexible. That’s a pleasant word for it.”
</p>
<p>
Steve’s chest shook. “He likes you, however. Even if he will never tell you as much.”
</p>
<p>
“He would sooner kiss Bertie on the mouth than give me a lick of approval. No need to drizzle honey over it, Steve.”
</p>
<p>
“He does respect you, Bucky. And I respect you. And I like you. And I know I’m getting this all wrong, but I’m saying… I don’t want you to leave this spring.” He meant when the contract was up, when George reviewed his profits and made the final decision whether or not to take Steve’s farm and home.
</p>
<p>
“Well. Steve. I suppose I will just have to uncomplicate things for you. I don’t wish to leave. Whether you keep me here to manage, or to milk the cows or what have you, I just… I’ve grown very used to it, here.” Steve craned his face down to stare into Bucky’s face, and Bucky saw the slight pinch of disbelief between Steve’s brows. “And I’ve grown very attached to you.”
</p>
<p>
“And you’ve made the prospect of you leaving very unappealing to me, Bucky.”
</p>
<p>
“Let me know what else would appeal to you, then, Steve.”
</p>
<p>
Steve nodded, and he kissed him thoughtfully, taking the time to savor it.
</p>
<p>
Bucky knew his own words were bold and took many liberties. He still hadn’t divulged to Steve who he really was, or who his father was. And that knowledge could break his trust. He could cast Bucky out.
</p>
<p>
And that would crush Bucky’s heart and soul to lose Steve Rogers again.
</p>
<p>
  *
</p>
<p>
 Sam wandered into the confectioner’s shop, lured in by the delicate, mouthwatering aromas of chocolate and burnt sugar. The snow was piled high outside, but that didn’t stop Sam from taking his afternoon constitutional walk through town to clear his head. His mother ambushed him about the upcoming ball at the Romanovs’ in the spring and nagged him to set an appointment up with his father’s tailor for a new suit. Sam didn’t have the patience for another fitting or to listen to his brother, GIdeon, take strips out of him all afternoon about how Darlene wouldn’t rest until she’d married him off. His sister Sarah was off at finishing school and would return home for the holiday, and Sam knew she would join their mother in speculating about Sam’s prospects.
</p>
<p>
The upcoming, endless rounds of teas in stuffy parlors and trips to boring operas held so little appeal. Sam was glad that when the weather warmed enough, he would have the excuse of visiting Steve more often in the country to help him with the harvesting. It was a welcome distraction. Sam wondered how he was managing, and if James Barnes had finally-
</p>
<p>
A familiar, tinkling feminine voice interrupted his thoughts.
</p>
<p>
“You need to try the hazelnut profiteroles, they are heavenly,” Rebecca Barnes gushed to her companion.
</p>
<p>
“Mama urged me not to. She wants me to fit into my gowns that we just ordered. I found the most darling slippers to go with the one. They have lovely little crystals on them.”
</p>
<p>
“One profiterole won’t hurt. Just one tiny, luscious little morsel.”
</p>
<p>
“Luscious morsels? Are there two such ones in my shop?” Clint called out in greeting. “Hello, darlings. What can I tempt you with today?”
</p>
<p>
“Emma needs to try your profiteroles. Quickly,” Becca confirmed. Emma rolled her eyes and sighed in long-suffering fashion, but her eyes widened as Clint brought the cut crystal dish out from under the case. The gleaming, perfect chocolate-dipped sweets beckoned to her, and Clint set one out for her on a tiny napkin. 
</p>
<p>
“You’re really going to make me disobey Mama, Becca?”
</p>
<p>
“Not at all. I didn’t say a word, and we were never here. Now, stop arguing with me and put that in your mouth.”
</p>
<p>
“Those sound like words I’ve said before,” Clint mused quietly. Mirth danced in his eyes, and he ducked when Becca reached out to swat him. “Sorry! Sorry.”
</p>
<p>
Emma sighed and plucked the little treat up, inspected it for a moment, and pushed it between her lips. Her eyes rolled in pleasure and she poked Becca in umbrage. “Oh. Oh, how dare you make me try this.”
</p>
<p>
“I would be a terrible friend if I didn’t.”
</p>
<p>
“You are instead the <i>worst</i> friend because you <i>did</i>. Oh, bother. I’ll just have to have my gowns let out. I want a half dozen.”
</p>
<p>
  “Get a whole dozen and sneak some to Cordelia and Adrienne.”
</p>
<p>
 I might save one for Cordy. I’m hiding the rest from Adrienne, because she’s being a nasty twit as usual.”</p>
<p>
 Clint looked pleased as he packed up a dozen profiteroles, and Becca scanned the case, looking for her favorite truffles, and she wasn’t expecting the gentleman behind her to say her name.
</p>
<p>
 “Rebecca Barnes?"
</p>
<p>
She spun around in surprise. “Pardon?”
</p>
<p>
“Samuel Wilson. You might remember me from Sunday services.”
</p>
<p>
“Perhaps not from a formal introduction, but, yes.” She looked impatient to get back to her shopping and her chatter with her friend, and Sam decided it would be better not to keep her too long. But he burned with curiosity as he watched Clint serve them.
</p>
<p>
“The Barnes family are my favorite customers,” he claimed. “You keep returning, and you bring your friends.”
</p>
<p>
“Are the rest of your family terrible influences like you?” Emma asked.
</p>
<p>
“I’m much better behaved than my brother, at least,” Becca claimed. “Bucket is always finding trouble to get himself into.”
</p>
<p>
That tickled Sam’s memory. “Bucket?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh! Don’t tell him I called him that in public. He <i>detests</i> it. He’s James to everyone else, and Bucket to me. And he always will be.”
</p>
<p>
“Is he Bucket to the Barton family, too?” Sam asked carefully.
</p>
<p>
Becca froze. “I beg your pardon?”
</p>
<p>
“I thought I heard from recent conversations that you and James are Clint’s cousins?” Sam said.
</p>
<p>
Becca’s face shuttered, and Sam realized he opened a can of worms that were now wriggling <i>everywhere</i>.
</p>
<p>
“Emma,” Becca said calmly, “why don’t you pick out my truffles for me.”
</p>
<p>
 “Why can’t you pick them out? You’ve just laid so much temptation in front of me all day today, and-”
</p>
<p>
 “Just surprise me,” Becca snapped. “You. Come with me.”
</p>
<p>
 Sam realized she was talking to him. He gestured to himself briefly, and then suppressed a yelp as she strong-armed him into the back of the shop.
</p>
<p>
“That room’s not for customers!” Clint called, but they ignored him. “Well. All right. Which truffles were we considering?”
</p>
<p>
 “What do you have?”
</p>
<p>
 “Well, we have lemon, and raspberry, and a nice coconut…” Clint casually recited his entire catalog of offerings and detailed the merits of each.
</p>
<p>
 Becca eyed Sam furtively as she pulled him into the back of the confectionery. She glanced around quickly to make sure no one else was within earshot.
</p>
<p>
 “Why are you asking me about my brother?” Her voice was agitated and impatient, and Sam planted his hands on his hips.
</p>
<p>
 “I just wondered if you were really in on it. Good Lord, you Barneses weave a tangled web…”
</p>
<p>
 “Hush,” she hissed. “No one needs to know about this!”
</p>
<p>
 “It’s beyond me how no one’s found your brother out by now.”
</p>
<p>
 “How much do you know?”
</p>
<p>
 “I found out by accident. Believe me, James wasn’t expecting me to find out. I visited Steve at his farm, and I found your brother there, looking much less like a jilted groom and more like a close acquaintance.” Sam paused for effect. “Very close.”
</p>
<p>Becca wrung her hands. “Please, be discreet, Mr. Wilson.”
</p>
<p>
 “I want no part of this deception, because I don’t want Steve to be hurt by it. Yet, I see no help for it, Miss Barnes.”
</p>
<p>
 Her eyes sparked, and Sam watched her face crumple. “You don’t understand.”
</p>
<p>
  “I could try?” he offered.
</p>
<p>
 “Papa is so stubborn,” she told him. “You didn’t see Bucky. You didn’t hear him that day, once we returned home from the chapel. He was so <i>crushed</i>. Steve’s abandonment ruined him. He wondered what he did wrong. He only wanted to please Papa, but… he was willing. Don’t you see? He wanted to commit to the marriage, to make a strong union, not just satisfy Papa’s financial arrangement. Our family has enjoyed so much benefit not just from Papa’s capable hand with business, but also from his marriage to Mama. They have such a happy marriage. Bucky won’t admit it, but he’s always wanted the same. Perhaps more so than me.”
</p>
<p>
 “So this is how he sought to remedy the situation?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes. He wanted to meet him and acquaint himself with him, somehow. I don’t know how he thought he would resolve the problem of his hidden identity. No one likes knowing they were the victim of a ruse.”
</p>
<p>
 Sam chuckled. “Steven Rogers is no one’s victim, let me assure you. But, you are correct. He won’t appreciate the subterfuge when he finds out.”
</p>
<p>
 Becca dashed away a tear that leaked onto her cheek with her gloved hand, but Sam withdrew his linen handkerchief from his pocket, offering it to her. “Don’t be upset. I told you, I won’t say a word. Your brother’s secret is safe, so long as he steps carefully. I just think this plan was shocking and bold. Did he think that me would simply grow acquainted with him? And perhaps court him, and then Steve… what? That he wouldn’t tell him to leave when he found out about the lie?”
</p>
<p>
 “Oh, I don’t know. But I was hopeful. And Bucky was hopeful. He’s so sweet. He’s so loving, and bright, and endlessly kind. And if Steve casts him out, it will ruin him all over again.”
</p>
<p>
 “Yet, he took that risk.” 
</p>
<p>
 She dabbed at her eyes and the tip of her nose and folded his handkerchief before handing it back to him, and he returned it to his pocket.
</p>
<p>
 “Be careful,” Sam admonished. “Perhaps don’t mention your brother and Steve’s ‘manager’ in the same breath.”
</p>
<p>
 “No, no, you are absolutely correct. I wasn’t thinking.”
</p>
<p>
 Sam smiled. “How on earth did he come up with the idea that Clint was his cousin?”
</p>
<p>
 She huffed a laugh, and then sighed. “I honestly have no clue.”
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Unwrapping Secrets</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“James?”</p>
<p>Cold shock hit Bucky in a wave. That was his name, his true birth name, spoken in <i>Steve’s</i> voice. Bucky’s insides quivered like jelly as he turned to face him.</p>
<p>“James… Barnes?” Steve seemed to be testing the name in his mouth, as though it was strange. Unwelcome as a summer cold.</p>
<p>“Steve. Please. Let me explain.”</p>
<p>“Let you...explain?” Steve huffed and plowed his hand through his unruly hair. “What is there to explain?”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>To anyone and everyone tensing up around the inevitable, uncomfortable reveal: 1) I’m SO Sorry, and 2) the chapter after this will more than make up for it, I PROMISE. Cross my heart.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Steve?”</p>
<p>“Up here.”</p>
<p>Bucky smiled and clomped upstairs in his heavy boots, surprised to hear the low splash and lap of water and to smell soap in the corridor. “Steve, what in heaven’s name… oh.”</p>
<p>Bucky opened the door to Steve’s bedroom and found the metal stock tub in the center. Inside it, he found a naked, grinning Steve. His hair was dripping in slick, dark runnels around the sides of his face and down his neck, and his skin was glistening and fresh. Steam rose from the water’s surface.</p>
<p>“You’ll catch a chill, Steve!” Bucky cried, but Steve shrugged up at him.</p>
<p>“Only if you don’t close the door. I stoked up the fire. You’ll notice that it’s pleasantly toasty in here, Bucky.”</p>
<p>Bucky closed the door behind him, and a slow smile spread across his face. “You couldn’t settle for a quick sponge bath?”</p>
<p>“My muscles ache terribly today, from this cold weather. I decided a hot soak was in order.”</p>
<p>“I smell lavender.”</p>
<p>“Mother always said it was soothing.”</p>
<p>“And… is that eucalyptus?”</p>
<p>“Good for the sinuses.”</p>
<p>“Don’t tell me you’ve caught the ague again, Steve!”</p>
<p>“No! I haven’t, I promise.” Then Steve smirked. “Unless you’re willing to play nurse with me again?”</p>
<p>“Promise me you won’t get sick again, Steve, and I will play with you all you want.” Bucky’s tone was smooth as honey as he approached the tub. He bent down and captured Steve’s mouth in a hungry, searching kiss, not minding when Steve’s damp hand reached up and cupped his nape. Steve hummed in approval and smiled up at him. </p>
<p>“Hello, Bucky.”</p>
<p>“Hello, Stevie.”</p>
<p>Steve pulled him in for another, but Bucky held him off for a moment. “I came to talk to you about the holiday and this month’s expenses.”</p>
<p>Steve’s face lit up. “The holiday? Are you planning to spend it with us?”</p>
<p>“I have… family obligations, Stevie. But, I wanted to make time for you, somehow. What do you have planned?”</p>
<p>That took the wind out of Steve’s sails, and Bucky hated to watch that smile of his lose any of its brightness. But Steve stroked Bucky’s jaw and sighed. “Not much, now.”</p>
<p>“No, Steve! Please, don’t rule out spending some of the holiday together! It just… it wouldn’t be the same without you.”</p>
<p>“I imagine you and Clint are both expected for supper on Christmas Eve.”</p>
<p>“Me and Clint… oh. Of… of course. Clint and I, and Becca… my sister-”</p>
<p>“You’ve mentioned her before,” Steve mentioned easily. “She sounds like the two of you are cut from the same cloth.”</p>
<p>“She’s a brat!”</p>
<p>“Mmmm. Same cloth.”</p>
<p>Bucky reached down and splashed Steve in the face in umbrage, making him yelp and splash him back. Steve giggled up at him, chest shaking, and Bucky tried to look annoyed, but Steve was adorable and stunningly naked. The water rippled around his splendid body, and when his knees parted slightly, Bucky noticed his cock nestled in its sandy patch of coarse curls. Bucky felt desire mounting within him, and he kissed him again in earnest, framing Steve’s face in his hands.</p>
<p>Steve reached up and unfastened the buttons on Bucky’s vest and untied his cravat. “You look fancy,” he murmured into their kiss. “Where did you go today?”</p>
<p>“I had to visit my employer,” Bucky explained. </p>
<p>“To talk about your contract?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“What did he tell you?”</p>
<p>Bucky withdrew just as reluctantly this time and tossed aside his cravat, turning his back on Steve as he worked on taking off his boots. “That we will need to discuss things further. He has some ideas of other places he would like to send me.”</p>
<p>And all of them were absolutely <i>dire.</i> Because all of them would take him hundreds of miles away from Steve Rogers.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George discussed his recent acquisition of a tobacco farm in the Americas that he wanted Bucky to manage for him. </p>
<p>Bucky took supper with his parents and sister, and once the last bite of dessert was consumed, George led him off to the study. A roaring fire crackled in the grate, and George poured both of them a bit of brandy while he lit his pipe.</p>
<p>“This should warm you up a bit, Jamie. You look well.”</p>
<p>“I feel well, Father.”</p>
<p>“Good.” George extinguished the match with a deft flick of his wrist and sat down in his favorite tufted chair, setting his feet up on the ottoman. “Go ahead and sit down, son.”</p>
<p>Bucky settled down on the chaise and sipped his brandy appreciatively. His boyhood home felt strange to him, now, since he began living in his own flat and worked so often on the farm. Then, Bucky realized, as he passed a mirror on his way inside the foyer, perhaps <i>he</i> was the strange element within his current surroundings. He didn’t look the same. His face was slightly more tanned from constant time outside. His posture was different. He didn’t look like a man of leisure anymore, and that filled him with pride.</p>
<p>Lately, his smile was different, too. Perhaps that was because of Steve Rogers. Even thinking about him before he took another sip made dimples appear in his cheeks and his eyes crinkle, and… yes. Bucky felt that glow in his chest and that delicious warmth and contentment.</p>
<p>Steve certainly had everything to do with it.</p>
<p>“How are you managing, Father?”</p>
<p>“So thoughtful of you to ask,” George replied with a huff. “You almost sound like a grown man when you ask after my wellbeing, James.”</p>
<p>Bucky smothered a laugh and ducked his face for a moment. “Have I not up til now?”</p>
<p>“It’s just been such a journey, watching my children grow up.” George contemplated his pipe before he puffed on it. “And realizing that what they want for themselves might not fall in line with my own wishes for their future.”</p>
<p>“Father, your wishes <i>do</i> matter,” Bucky argued.</p>
<p>“Do they? Hmmmm.” George mulled this claim thoughtfully. Bucky felt the strange tension in him, despite his calm demeanor. “I sometimes wonder, James. Especially when I find that they act against my wishes at times, despite my best intentions.”</p>
<p>Bucky’s smile evaporated, and his stomach twisted itself in a knot.</p>
<p>“I know I was hasty when I suggested marriage to Steven Rogers. I felt it would be a sensible union and a worthwhile business arrangement. I’ve had time to rethink that, obviously. You’re a bachelor, and you are rising up in the world, James. Perhaps it was wrong to want to saddle you in matrimony so quickly.”</p>
<p>“You meant well, Father.”</p>
<p>“I did, indeed. I just hadn’t realized that our friend Mr. Rogers owned such a weak character and that he wouldn’t honor his commitments.”</p>
<p>Bucky paled, hating to hear Steve slandered in such a fashion, but he knew he needed to maintain his ruse just a while longer.</p>
<p>“He isn’t weak. Father, Steve was thrust into circumstances beyond his control when his uncle gambled with his estate.”</p>
<p>“Beyond his control,” George muttered. “RIdiculous. He had but to rise to the task and make a profit. I gave him ample opportunity, and I have yet to see him carry through on his end of the contract. In two months, he will forfeit the deed and sign it over to me entirely.”</p>
<p>“The proof will be in his books, Father.”</p>
<p>“Will they?” George gave Bucky a strange look. “How would you know, when you haven’t been managing that farm, per our agreement?”</p>
<p>“Someone has to have been managing them,” Bucky shot back. “And it says a lot about Steve Rogers, his character, his work ethic, and his determination that he has managed as long as he has on his own up until now, wouldn’t you agree, Father?”</p>
<p>“Ekeing out a living. Barely surviving.” George sounded as though he was already exhausted by the conversation. “Imagine the life he would have given you if you went through with the wedding.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I don’t know, Father. You certainly had our future tied up neatly and prettily with a satin bow.”</p>
<p>“Which might have been my mistake, previously. However, son of mine,” George told him in measured tones, “I’ve heard good things. Favorable things. About your performance, managing my properties.”</p>
<p>Bucky tensed.</p>
<p>“Things are running well. Your education and mind for numbers have benefited all of my holdings so far. And since I’m expanding my holdings, I hope to expand your role, as well.”</p>
<p>“Father, this was a worthy experiment,” Bucky said. “I never thought my working for your associates as a manager would be <i>permanent</i>. I have aspirations of my own. I wish to write. I’ve been working on a manuscript-”</p>
<p>“Rubbish.”</p>
<p>“Father!”</p>
<p>“Don’t be ridiculous. A manuscript? You plan to make a living by writing sweet, pretty words? You’ll die a pauper, James. You won’t be able to support a family or manage any other obligation-”</p>
<p>“Obligations,” Bucky spat. “You talk to me about obligations. You want me to be forever obligated to <i>you</i>, Father. I have a mind for numbers, and yes, Father, for ‘sweet, pretty words’ that you seem to disdain.”</p>
<p>“I don’t expect you to be obligated to me-”</p>
<p>“You do,” Bucky interjected, holding up his hand, and spots of color rose up in George’s cheeks.</p>
<p>“Don’t you dare interrupt me in my own home! I won’t allow it!”</p>
<p>“Father-”</p>
<p>“NO! Blast it all! JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES!” George threw his pipe aside and rose from his chair, and he towered over Bucky, who sat on the chaise, fuming, wondering how he was suddenly once more a child of five. “You don’t know what you’re asking!”</p>
<p>“Because I’m not asking! Father, I’m <i>telling</i> you that I have plans of my own, now that I’m a grown man!”</p>
<p>“You’re grown, but you haven’t matured. You know nothing of the real world, James,” George told him, voice shaking, and his finger jabbed itself into Bucky’s chest. “You know nothing of what it takes to support a family and to pull yourself up by your own bootstraps! We’ve spoonfed you and coddled you for far too long. I had hoped, <i>upon hope</i>, that you would learn the value of hard work if you managed the farms, and learned their day to day operation, and actually dirtied your hands for a few months. The Barnes empire must live on through <i>you</i>, which cannot happen while you have your head in the clouds, with ink from your quill staining your fingers in your ridiculous manuscripts!” George’s voice continued to rise, and Bucky felt his eyes sparking, but he rose to his feet, forcing his father to step back.</p>
<p>“You feel you’ve coddled me,” Bucky told him softly. “Oh, Father. That says less about me, and more about you that you feel that way. You would have handed me off in a convenient marriage, just so that you could focus on finding a groom to hand Becca off to, in the hopes that you could carry on this ‘empire’ of yours. We aren’t your children. We’re commodities, with no more autonomy than a plow mule or a prize bull, Father.” Bucky shook his head, and his eyes were glistening.</p>
<p>“James-”</p>
<p>“No. If you love me, you will <i>hear me</i>.”</p>
<p>That took the wind from George’s sails. “I. I do. I do love you, you foolish lad.”</p>
<p>“Yet, you won’t listen to me. You won’t <i>see me</i>. You look at the education that you paid for as a wasted investment if I don’t follow you into the family business, as a manager, or what have you. I can’t have you look at me and only see wasted coins, or wasted opportunities, or a misguided attempt at an engagement, Father.” Bucky gripped his father’s arm and stared into his face. “I will have opportunities, Father. Not just the ones you feel obligated to give me. And I will be allowed to make my own mistakes.”</p>
<p>“Rather than reaching for what’s right in front of you?”</p>
<p>“What makes you think I haven’t?”</p>
<p>What made his father think Bucky hadn’t reached for exactly what he wanted with Steve?</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, but I cannot grant all of your wishes.”</p>
<p>“No, you can’t.”</p>
<p>George huffed. He tugged on the hem of his waistcoat, straightening it. He reached out and cupped Bucky’s cheek for a brief moment. Then, he backed away.</p>
<p>“As I said, you’ve shown much promise.”</p>
<p>Bucky sighed. “Thank you, Father.”</p>
<p>“If you won’t consider continuing to work for me within this district, then I could place you in my newest holdings, in the Americas.”</p>
<p>Bucky’s heart sank.</p>
<p>“Father. Surely, you can’t be serious.”</p>
<p>“Oh, but I can. It’s my newest property, and it needs a skilled manager. As I said, I’m extending my reach. I feel that you might grow complacent if you follow the same routine for too long, James. You need a fresh start, in new surroundings.”</p>
<p>Bucky threw up his hands. “What’s wrong with my <i>current</i> surroundings?”</p>
<p>“Without change, you won’t grow. You don’t feel I’ve coddled you.”</p>
<p>“No, Father, but then again, perhaps you have. I’ve grown too fond of regular meals and a roof over my head.”</p>
<p>George’s laugh was rusty, and he shook his head. “Perhaps I need to be more blunt.”</p>
<p>“More than you already have?” Bucky’s voice was calm, but he felt as though his father wasn’t finished pulling his strings.</p>
<p>“I don’t want you to associate with Steven Rogers. Even after his contract is up.”</p>
<p>Bucky’s knees nearly gave out.</p>
<p>“Father, why should it matter if I associate with him or not once his contact is up?”</p>
<p>“Because it would be unseemly. There’s nothing to gain from you consorting with him after he humiliated our family. Once his contract is up, we will conclude our business arrangement with him, and be done with him.”</p>
<p>“There’s no reason to send me across the ocean to keep me away from him.” Bucky’s voice held an edge that raised George’s hackles.</p>
<p>“That would be the <i>principal</i> benefit of relocating you. Not the <i>only</i> benefit.”</p>
<p>“I don’t see why this concerns you so much.”</p>
<p>“Because you are the son in this situation, not the father.”</p>
<p>“If you would have me work for you, Father, in any capacity, do not plan to send me away, especially not to escape my one-time groom. Because I have nothing to escape from in this regard.” Bucky drew himself up tall. “I have done nothing wrong.”</p>
<p>George hummed to himself and retrieved his pipe. “Let’s top up the brandy before you retire, son. It will keep you warm.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Steve watched Bucky as he stripped down before him, slowly dropping each garment and revealing taut skin and sinewy muscle. “Come here,” Steve husked. “The water’s nice.”</p>
<p>“It is, with you in it,” Bucky agreed as he dropped his breeches and moved toward the tub. His eyes were smoldering with desire as he stepped into the tub, which was hot enough that he hissed from the heat, but as it engulfed him and he sank down to meet Steve, easing into his embrace, his muscles thanked him, and his tensions evaporated. Steve’s hands were on him immediately, and Bucky claimed his mouth, enjoying the rasp of his beard. He straddled Steve’s hips and felt Steve’s hands running up his back in hungry, greedy caresses. Bucky lost himself in his kisses and his all-consuming passion. Bucky clutched at Steve’s hair, enjoying how thick and soft it felt between his fingers. The scent of lavender and eucalyptus filled his lungs, mingling with Steve’s scent, and it was intoxicating. They lolled together in the warmth, letting the water lap against their flesh. Bucky ground himself down against Steve’s hardness, earning himself a groan of need.</p>
<p>“I missed you,” Steve murmured between kisses. </p>
<p>“I haven’t been gone that long.”</p>
<p>“I still missed you. I was waiting for you to come home.”</p>
<p>Oh, how sweet that sounded from Steve’s lips.</p>
<p>“I love coming home to you, Stevie.” Bucky’s smile was soft and dreamy as he trailed kisses over Steve’s face, making him chuckle.</p>
<p>“Bucky?”</p>
<p>“Yes?”</p>
<p>“Do you really consider this home?”</p>
<p>Bucky smiled, then nodded. “It’s come to feel that way. This house of yours, it’s… it’s rather grown on me.”</p>
<p>But it was the man in the home that made it a home. </p>
<p>They soaped each other liberally with the bar, one made in Steve’s own barn from his herbs, tallow and lye. They took their time, luxuriating in their shared heat and the slickness of their skin. Bucky’s hips kept sliding against Steve, making his cock buffet his under the water. Steve reached for him and caught both of them in his fist, loosely gripping them as he drank more kisses from Bucky’s mouth. He dragged his mouth over Bucky’s chin and nipped and lapped at his throat. Bucky shuddered and tipped his head back to give him better access. Steve’s tongue drove him wild and pushed out all reason from his mind. Steve grew just as lost in Bucky, writhing and arching in his arms as he scorched him with his kisses, leaving behind a trail of beard burn over his sensitive flesh. Steve’s fingers pumped Bucky, ringing them together with increasing friction while he moved down over his collarbones with nipping kisses, mouth dancing over his sternum. He caught one of Bucky’s nipples between his teeth and suckled it, making Bucky arch into his mouth.</p>
<p>“Dear God…”</p>
<p>Bucky’s mouth dropped open and his eyes clenched shut. He reeled with passion and gave himself up to Steve and the sensations. He was growing closer to his completion, and low, soft cries escaped him. “<i>Steve.</i>” Bucky’s hands ran over Steve’s arms, shoulders and slick back. “<i>Steve.</i>”</p>
<p>“I love you.” Steve’s voice was filled with heat. “I love you, Bucky.”</p>
<p>Steve retraced his earlier path, needing to return to his mouth, and Bucky met him there, agreeable and pliant, craving him. Steve worked his hand over them both until Bucky felt himself release, and he shuddered, hips jerking. Pearly strings of seed mixed with the filmy, soapy water, and Steve held him through the aftershocks. Bucky collapsed against him, limp and happy. Bucky felt Steve’s mouth wandering softly over his skin.</p>
<p>“I love you, too, Stevie,” Bucky murmured. “I love you very, very much.”</p>
<p>And Steve was surprised that Bucky even had the strength to tell him, “Now, stand up.”</p>
<p>“What on earth for?”</p>
<p>“Because I need to take care of this situation of yours. I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I didn’t.”</p>
<p>“My situa-” Steve’s voice trailed off as Bucky rose and pulled him to his feet in the tub. But then Bucky sank back down to his knees before Steve, grasped his thighs, and leaned forward. “What-”</p>
<p>Bucky’s mouth opened and engulfed Steve inside his lush heat. Confusion was replaced by need, and Steve’s body arched in response. Bucky drew him deep, humming in low, pleased tones that vibrated through Steve’s flesh. “Oh,” Steve breathed. “All right…”</p>
<p>Steve was a masterpiece of sinew, firm muscle and supple skin dusted with sandy hair as he stood in the tub, glistening and damp. Bucky’s eyes were still greedy for the sight of him, even though his own body was replete from his climax. Steve’s fingers combed through Bucky’s soft, now-damp hair, and Bucky bobbed his head over him, watching Steve’s face through his dark, wet lashes. His palms skimmed over Steve’s thighs, gripping his hips, and he moaned at the slow shunt of Steve’s hips as he pushed himself into Bucky’s heat. Bucky tasted the faint hint of salt and felt Steve stiffen in his mouth. Steve’s squeezed Bucky’s shoulder in silent, brief warning, and Bucky stroked him, gently caressing the taut globes beneath his sex and increased his pace, still humming through him, watching Steve’s face change. Steve spilled down Bucky’s throat, hips snapping almost against his volition. Steve’s body tensed, every muscle going stiff at once, before all of his tension left him. Bucky lapped at him, cleaning away the last trace of his passion before Steve pulled him shakily to his feet.</p>
<p>“Enough. Let’s get you dry.” Steve’s voice was a low, sweet husk.</p>
<p>“I’m glad you stoked up the fire.”</p>
<p>They toweled each other dry long enough to empty the tub, and Steve met Bucky under the thick covers, both of them bundled up in breeches and nightshirts. Bucky listened to Steve’s heartbeat slowly returning to normal, lying curled in his arms. Steve’s fingers were still combing through his hair.</p>
<p>“How…”</p>
<p>Bucky heard the beginning of a question, sensing that Steve was struggling with it. He raised his head for a moment and stared down into his face, giving him a coy smile. “What, Stevie?”</p>
<p>“How did we end up here?” Steve’s hand cradled Bucky’s jaw. “How did you come to mean so much to me?”</p>
<p>“I suppose I do have some vague appeal…”</p>
<p>Steve chuckled. “You’re terrible. Do shut up. Just… don’t answer that question, I’ve changed my mind, you are <i>terrible</i>.”</p>
<p>Bucky laughed, eyes crinkled as he kissed him. “I’m the absolute <i>worst.</i> And I’m yours. All yours.”</p>
<p>“Lucky, lucky me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George stepped into the jewelry boutique the next afternoon. He spoke to the owner in the back of the shop, furtively and with purpose. Money changed hands, and George told him, “This remains between us. I hope I have bought your silence.”</p>
<p>And George visited several other shops that day, duplicating that transaction again. And again. And again.</p>
<p>Laying a trap was complex. Sometimes, it required subtlety.</p>
<p>At other times, all one needed were deep pockets.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bucky went over his own expenses, writing them out in his ledger by firelight in his tiny flat.</p>
<p>Surely, he could set something aside for a present for Steve. He spent so much time on the farm, even when he wasn’t managing the other properties for his father. His own cupboards were frequently bare, but he took most of his meals with Steve and Billy. Once he paid his rent, bought kerosene and firewood, and a scant few groceries for himself, he had a modest amount left over to spend how he wished.</p>
<p>Blue.</p>
<p>It had to be something blue, to match Steve’s eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Steve went to the farming supply shop and found Mr. Schmidt in the back at the counter, weighing a bag of feed. He grunted a greeting at Steve and gave him what usually passed for a smile.</p>
<p>“Good day to you, Steven.”</p>
<p>“Hello, Johann.”</p>
<p>“Are you here for your usual order?”</p>
<p>“I am, but… I also wanted to speak to you about some commissions.”</p>
<p>Johann straightened his glasses. “Commissions, you say?”</p>
<p>“Yes. Times are often leaner during the winter season, and it also happens to be the holiday season. I am interested in selling some paintings. I have some that I have been working on, but I would also be willing to create some to custom specifications, if you know anyone wanting to order such a thing. You conduct business in well-heeled circles.”</p>
<p>Johann’s smile still didn’t reach his eyes, but it widened a notch. He nodded and straightened up as he set aside the bag of feed. “I do, indeed. My friends have very exacting and distinctive tastes.”</p>
<p>“I imagine they must.” Steve only hoped they had deep pockets, whether they were fussy or not.</p>
<p>“And I imagine they would pay a handsome sum for a work of art that met their exacting standards. Perhaps… you could bring some of your work, and I could show it in my shop.” Johann gestured vaguely to his storefront. “This isn’t a museum, as you can see, but it might generate chatter and brighten things a bit if we displayed a piece or two.” Johann straightened his glasses and added, “Of course, I would take my commission for displaying your work and enabling the sale.”</p>
<p>Steve suppressed a sigh. “Of course.”</p>
<p>Steve wondered why he was even making this last-ditch effort. Johann Schmidt had become one of his colleagues over the years more out of necessity than choice, and he took advantage of their community’s small size to monopolize the market for grain and other farming supplies. Bucky had advised Steve not to let him bilk him on the cost of feed, more than once, and his advice was coming back to Steve in the form of a nagging voice in the back of his head.</p>
<p>As though Johann had read Steve’s mind, he said, “I’m surprised to see you alone today. I’ve grown almost accustomed to seeing you with young Mr. Barnes. You seem to rely on him for his opinions on my prices.” There was an edge to his voice that stiffened Steve’s spine.</p>
<p>“Bucky has a strong head for numbers, and he’s well educated, Johann.” Then, it hit him. “And I believe you are slightly mistaken, Johann. It’s Barton. His name is-”</p>
<p>“James Barnes,” Johann pronounced carefully.</p>
<p>Steve frowned, shaking his head.</p>
<p>“His father is an associate of mine and just as frequent a customer,” Johann continued. “George Barnes is such a distinguished gentleman, and he carries himself with such a strong presence, and such pride. James has his father’s eyes. And that cleft in his chin, very cunning and distinctive. It’s impossible to see him and not recognize him immediately as his father’s son.”</p>
<p>Steve felt the rest of the world fall away. He felt as though someone had reached into his body and yanked his insides out. </p>
<p>
  <i>James Barnes. James Barnes. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>James Barnes.</i>
</p>
<p>“It… that can’t be. He’s… Clint Barton’s cousin.”</p>
<p>“I know of no such relation,” Johann told him simply. Emphatically. “And I’ve been living in this village for over forty years, Mr. Rogers.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I… I will tell him you inquired after his health,” Steve told him woodenly. He barely felt his feet moving beneath him as he exited the shop.</p>
<p>“What about your order?” Johann called after him, but Steve ignored him and rushed to his wagon.</p>
<p>His horses knew the way home by rote, which gave Steve the time to let his roiling thoughts tumble through his head. His heart wouldn’t stop pounding, and he heard a rushing in his ears.</p>
<p>
  <i>James Barnes. Bucky Barton. James Barnes.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His whole world came crashing down around his feet. The pieces of his heart grew lost in the rubble.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bucky went to the jeweler’s initially just to browse. He still wasn’t certain what he wanted to give Steve for a gift, and peeking in a few store windows seemed like it would help to inspire him.</p>
<p>The wares displayed on black velvet winked up at him, dazzling his senses. Bucky eyed the diamond chokers and earbobs, the gold watch fobs and pearl brooches, until the shop clerk finally approached him.</p>
<p>“Good afternoon, sir. Are you searching for anything in particular today?”</p>
<p>“Yes. A gift for a gentleman friend. Some little token that I can surprise him with for Christmas.”</p>
<p>The man nodded with satisfaction. “A gentleman? Well. We have some items that would appeal to a man of your distinguished tastes.” Bucky dressed for the trip in his warmest day suit, bespoke tailored and cut from dark, charcoal gray wool. He’d bundled himself in a black overcoat and a soft, navy muffler and wool cap, and his cheeks were pink from the cold. He looked every inch the son of a rich toff, and the clerk treated him as such.</p>
<p>“Do you have something nice in blue?”</p>
<p>The clerk nodded enthusiastically. “We have these.” He opened up the case and pulled out a tray of cufflinks and watch fobs, lapel pins, and men’s rings. “You mentioned blue. We have a nice blue topaz, or a tourmaline. Or perhaps these, you’ll notice the sapphires?”</p>
<p>But then, Bucky noticed the milky, luminous stones still inside the case, and his expression perked with new interest. “What are those, sir?”</p>
<p>“Oh! Interesting choice. Those are opals. We don’t have many requests for them. They are rumored to bring bad luck to the wearer, but you know human nature. We are always drawn like moths to the flame; we chase after dangerous, pretty things, and life is such a short, unpredictable thing, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“Would you please take them out?”</p>
<p>The man smiled coyly and removed the tray from the case, and Bucky picked up the cufflink with his permission, holding it up to the light. It shifted and sparkled as Bucky turned it in different directions, faint yellow-green one moment, then icy blue the next, a pearly, creamy thing of beauty that brought Steve’s eyes immediately to mind.</p>
<p>“Brilliant,” Bucky murmured.</p>
<p>“You won’t see yourself coming and going, wearing these,” the clerk assured him.</p>
<p>Bucky flipped up the price tag and made a thoughtful sound. Then he shrugged, nodded, and told him, “These, sir. Please.”</p>
<p>The man looked delighted with the sale. “Will you be paying cash for these, sir, or opening a line of credit?”</p>
<p>“Credit is nice when one has the credentials, but I prefer direct payment at the point of sale,” Bucky told him. “And I worked hard for this.” His chest puffed out as he pronounced this. The clerk nodded, looking amused.</p>
<p>“Of course you have, sir. Very good, sir. Also, would you like anything inscribed on these?”</p>
<p>“No. Not this time. Perhaps a future purchase.” The price was dear enough without adding an inscription. “Steve will know who they are from,” he added, pleased.</p>
<p>“All right. Also, what was your name again? In case you come in again?”</p>
<p>“Bucky Barnes,” he offered.</p>
<p>They completed the transaction, and Bucky left with his purchase carefully wrapped in a tiny, satin pouch tied up with a white ribbon.</p>
<p>The clerk waved to him as he left the shop, wishing him a fine Christmas, indeed.</p>
<p>Once he made his way out of his sight, the clerk wrote down the amount of the purchase in his ledger, and the date it occurred. </p>
<p>He wrote down Bucky’s name and circled it with a flourish.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Steve was still in a daze when he returned to the house. He walked right past Billy, ignoring his greeting. Billy watched his lead-footed journey down the corridor and followed him until Steve grated out, “Leave me be.”</p>
<p>“All right,” Billy said, even though ten thousand questions lived unuttered on his lips. He didn’t much care for the low slam of Steve’s bedroom door, either, if he was being honest. Billy went back to punching down the dough for their bread, hoping the kitchen would remain warm enough for it to continue to rise.</p>
<p>Steve tugged on his hair and paced the room, cursing under his breath. “Barnes,” he muttered. “Damn James… <i>Barnes</i>... Barton… damn it. <i>Damn it all.</i>”</p>
<p>So many pieces fell into place. Steve wondered how he’d missed it, or better yet, couldn’t wrap his head around the lies he must have told himself from the moment Bucky set foot on his property. The proper breeding. The carefully manicured nails and perfectly trimmed hair. The accent, less provincial than the locals. He’d been to Eton, and to Pembroke, certainly, but Bucky spoke like someone who had traveled extensively. A sow’s ear would never be made into a silk purse, but what if the silk purse attempted to be something more humble, and more relatable to a certain crowd?</p>
<p>Steve just couldn’t fathom why Bucky - why <i>James</i> - had insisted on using such subterfuge. Why this ruse? Steve had brought shame on himself for refusing George Barnes’ arrangement and for breaking the engagement to his only son. To his <i>only heir to his vast fortune and several properties.</i> James Barnes. The man could marry <i>anyone.</i> He’d be welcome in any parlor and drawing room he chose. Why would he…</p>
<p>Steve sat down and wrestled with his boots, struggling to get them off. He cursed again and threw the left one across the room, knocking over his pitcher and shattering it on the floor. He shouted in frustration and felt his eyes spark, and Steve buried his face in his hands.</p>
<p>“<i>Why.</i>”</p>
<p>Billy decided he’d given Steve enough space, and Steve heard his footsteps rushing upstairs. He barged in breathlessly, demanding “What the bloody hell is wrong with you, Rogers?!”</p>
<p>“Everything. Everything’s wrong.”</p>
<p>Billy frowned and sat down beside him, gripping his shoulder. “How?”</p>
<p>“Everything about me is <i>wrong</i> for him, but he’s done this, anyway, even though I… I don’t know how to fix this. Billy, I… it’s Bucky. He isn’t who he says he is. He’s not.” Steve shook his head and threw up his hands, letting them slap back down into his lap. “You weren’t wrong, all this time. Bucky was never meant to be here.”</p>
<p>“Steve. Don’t be daft. Of course he is. You said so yourself, he has started to fit in with us-”</p>
<p>“No. He never could. It’s a ruse. Don’t you see? He isn’t Bucky Barton. That’s not even his name.”</p>
<p>Billy paled, going too still, and his grip on Steve tightened. “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“He’s James Barnes. He’s <i>George Barnes’ son.</i> I left him at the altar, and he’s… he’s practically lived here all this time. Fooling us. Pulling the wool down over my eyes, like I’m some country simpleton.” Steve laughed, but there were tears shining in his eyes. “You were right. I was an eejit, wasn’t I?”</p>
<p>Billy shook his head. “You couldn’t have known, Steve-”</p>
<p>“Couldn’t I?” Steve barked, and he slapped BIlly’s hand away. “How <i>couldn’t</i> I have known?! He was a person of means and influence, we could see that as soon as he came here, even driving up in that damned rickety wagon of his! Oh, what a yarn he spun for us since the beginning!”</p>
<p>“Steve, it was his lie. That doesn’t mean you were a fool for believing him. I was fooled, too. One must admit, though, that both of us should have had an inkling. I mean, he couldn’t cook.” Billy laughed, but it was a rusty, noncommittal sound, and his shoulders sank. He looked as deflated as Steve felt. “Couldn’t milk a cow worth a damn, and he was here to manage a <i>farm?</i>”</p>
<p>“Several farms, as luck would have it.”</p>
<p>Billy chewed on this. He squeezed Steve’s shoulder again, and this time Steve didn’t push him off. Billy gave him a little shake, and his own heart broke a little when Steve’s low growl grew into a wail of grief and outrage. Billy held him and let him cry, a luxury Steve never indulged in, not since he lost Sarah.</p>
<p>It was just too much to process.</p>
<p>Both men were left with the inevitable, damning question.</p>
<p>What was going to happen to the farm?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Three days later, Bucky found himself in Schmidt’s store, dressed in his work clothes. The weather outside was a gale of snow flurries and wind that snatched the air from a man’s lungs. Bucky stamped his feet before he entered the shop, and Johann looked up, intrigued.</p>
<p>“Good afternoon, Mr… Barton.”</p>
<p>Bucky’s smile faltered, but he greeted him at the back counter. “I’ve come to buy some kerosene, sir. Steve and Billy are running low.”</p>
<p>“We can’t have that. I thought Steve was going to buy feed the other day, but he left without placing his usual order.”</p>
<p>Bucky hummed in surprise. “How odd.”</p>
<p>“But, you came for kerosene, yes?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Mr. Schmidt.” He glanced around the shop and found something that caught his eye. “What’s this?” He wandered over to the large, beautiful painting on display, just shy of the pickled vegetables.</p>
<p>“Oh, that. It’s been brightening my shop these past few days. I’m almost unwilling to part with it. Your friend Mr. Rogers painted that. He has quite the raw talent for a man who wasn’t classically trained. He never attended secondary school or university after he lost his mother. But he has quite the eye, wouldn’t you agree?”</p>
<p>“Steve painted this?” Bucky fought the urge to touch it. The canvas depicted the lake that lay mere miles from Steve’s property, no doubt painted in summer, when the poppies and wildflowers were in bloom. The elm and birch trees were skillfully rendered, and the lake looked like it was made from glass. Lazy clouds floated across the sky. Steve captured a perfect, calm summer day. “It’s gorgeous.”</p>
<p>“Indeed.”</p>
<p>“And he’s selling it?”</p>
<p>“You haven’t seen his work before now? I had the impression that you spent a lot of time on his farm,” Johann pressed.</p>
<p>“Well, certainly. This is the first time I’ve actually seen this piece,” Bucky hedged, wondering why Johann seemed to be prying.</p>
<p>“Of course. Perhaps, the two of you merely have a working relationship, then. One doesn’t always know of their business associate’s other passions, and perhaps one doesn’t have to when dealing with money. Financial matters are complicated when you mix business with pleasure,” Johann mentioned. There was that canny smile, and his tone was smug. Bucky felt an unpleasant tingle creep over his flesh. “It just surprises me that you two gentlemen don’t seem to know each other as well as I’d previously assumed.”</p>
<p>Bucky went ashen for a moment. “We’ve grown to know each other,” he offered hollowly. “That painting. You said it’s for sale?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“I’d like to buy it.”</p>
<p>“And the kerosene?”</p>
<p>“Yes, please.”</p>
<p>Bucky carried out the transaction quickly, and Johann wrapped up the painting for him. He took his purchases and loaded them into his wagon on the seat beside him, covering them with a blanket, and he drove out of town with a sense of unease.</p>
<p>He needed to see Steve. But first, he decided to bring the painting in from the terrible weather. He could leave it tucked away safely in his flat; his mother would love it once she unwrapped it on Christmas morning.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bucky saw Billy inside the barn when he arrived, loading bales of hay into the loft. Bucky hitched his horses and wandered over, and he saw Billy pause through the window. He promptly stalked outside and called out to Bucky, “What the hell are you doing here?”</p>
<p>Bucky stopped in his tracks. “I came to see Steve.”</p>
<p>“Yeah? To go over his books, or to roll around with him in the sheets? Or to feed him some more of your pretty lies, you fancy prig?”</p>
<p>Bucky reeled as though Billy had slapped him. “What did you say?”</p>
<p>“You heard me, Barton, or Barnes, or whoever the blooming fuck you are,” Billy swore. </p>
<p>All of the color drained from Bucky’s face, and he shook his head. “Billy-”</p>
<p>“Save it. I don’t want to hear any of it. I never knew what it was about you that didn’t sit right with me up until now. Just tell me one thing: Were you just trying to make us fail?”</p>
<p>“What?! No!”</p>
<p>“No?” Billy shrugged. “Seems like a perfect opportunity. You cook the books, make it look like we’re mismanaging things, and you get our farm into your father’s clutches that much faster. You don’t seem like a man who wastes an opportunity when it falls into his hands, and if you get to charm Steve, to boot, then you win all around, don’t you?”</p>
<p>Bucky couldn’t waste time here, even though his stomach had dropped down into his shoes. He shook his head. “Don’t. I can’t… I can’t hear this from you, I need to see Stevie!”</p>
<p>“Sure, you do, you bastard! Go on, and tell him some more of your lies! I’ll just be out here, like I’ve always been, doing the work even though I know we’ll end up with nothing to show for it.”</p>
<p>Bucky looked stricken, and he ran toward the house, through the ice-crusted drifts of snow. His legs felt wobbly, leaden; the door was too far away, and the wind seemed to chide him for his rashness, urging him back.</p>
<p>He banged on the door when he found it locked. “Steve! STEVE! Please, let me in! It’s Bucky! STEVIE!” He banged on it again, heart pounding, chest heaving. Bucky felt sick and panicked. Billy’s angry reception should have given him pause and sent him riding off in his wagon, but Bucky needed to set eyes on Steve, needed to explain-</p>
<p>The door was yanked open roughly, and Steve glared back at him, leaning against the frame, fist dangling limply. His beard looked scraggly and untrimmed, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He scratched his fingers through the mess around his jaw. “What?”</p>
<p>“Stevie… hello.”</p>
<p>Steve huffed. “Hello, he says,” he muttered, more to himself as he backed up. Bucky took that as an invitation and followed him inside, even though Steve’s body language told him that he was very, very unwelcome in his home. But Bucky stomped the snow from his boots and closed the door, unwinding his long muffler and setting his hat on the table.</p>
<p>“So,” Steve said. “James?”</p>
<p>Cold shock hit Bucky in a wave. That was his name, his true birth name, spoken in <i>Steve’s</i> voice. Bucky’s insides quivered like jelly as he turned to face him.</p>
<p>“James… Barnes?” Steve seemed to be testing the name in his mouth, as though it was strange. Unwelcome as a summer cold.</p>
<p>“Steve. Please. Let me explain.”</p>
<p>“Let you...explain?” Steve huffed and plowed his hand through his unruly hair. “What is there to explain?”</p>
<p>Steve sat down on one of his chairs, legs splayed wide and dangling his hands between them. He stared up at Bucky with so much scorn. Bucky’s fingers slowly unbuttoned his coat, but Steve held up a hand. “Don’t plan to stay long.”</p>
<p>“Stevie…”</p>
<p>“Don’t you ‘Stevie’ me. We’re past the need for endearments. I don’t know who you are.”</p>
<p>“No, Steve. You do. You know me better than anyone else. I’m Bucky. I’m… I’m your <i>Bucky</i>.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That lingered between them, plaintive and hopeful.</p>
<p>Then, Steve dashed Bucky’s hopes to the ground.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are you, now.” Steve nodded, then shrugged. “Could’ve fooled me. Because, let’s consider for a moment that you <i>have</i> fooled me quite handily, James.”</p>
<p>“Please, don’t call me that, Steve.”</p>
<p>“Why not? It’s your name.”</p>
<p>Bucky’s eyes burned, and he threw up his hands. “Steve.”</p>
<p>“It is. There were moments that made me wonder. Every now and again, you would say something that would make me pause. Was Clint in on this?”</p>
<p>“Don’t blame him, he wasn’t… this had nothing to do with him. He was merely silent about it, he didn’t lie.”</p>
<p>“Silence is a lie of omission. But my quarrel isn’t with Clint Barton.” </p>
<p>“Surely, you won’t quarrel with me?”</p>
<p>“We don’t quarrel much anymore, do we, now that you’ve wormed your way into my good graces.”</p>
<p>Oh, how the tears burned once they escaped. Bucky’s shoulders sagged, and he felt a searing pain in the center of his chest. “Your… your good graces. Well. I suppose you would see it that way. Steve, I have nothing but respect and admiration for you, I swear. I care for you. I never wanted to deceive you, but I wanted to know you. I wanted so badly to fix the awkwardness between us.”</p>
<p>“What awkwardness? You mean, when I left you behind in the church? When your father decided to call in my debt?”</p>
<p>“It was your uncle’s debt,” Bucky corrected him. “And it wasn’t your fault, Steve. None of this was your fault. Your circumstances weren’t kind, but you don’t deserve to lose your farm and everything that your family worked for. That <i>you’ve</i> worked for.”</p>
<p>“Yet, you know I stand to lose it. Perhaps now, more than ever, since you’ve been cleverly working on my books and reporting back to your father how badly we’re failing.”</p>
<p>“You’re not failing. You and Billy are holding steady. By a slim margin, but you’re not failing at all. And I haven’t… I haven’t reported anything back to my father. Not in the way you would think.”</p>
<p>“You haven’t?”</p>
<p>“No. I merely report to the county’s surveyor, and to the bank. As far as my father knows, they collect that information themselves, from you and Billy directly. My name isn’t involved.”</p>
<p>“Oh. How clever. And convenient.”</p>
<p>Bucky felt his hopes fizzling and waning. “I had to know.”</p>
<p>“What did you have to know?”</p>
<p>“You. I had to know you. I… I needed to know what you were like. I had to know why you thought a marriage to me was so unthinkable. So unpalatable. You missed the engagement party. I was so disappointed. I wore my nicest suit. I waited by the picture window most of the night, but you never arrived. Becca tried to distract me.”</p>
<p>Steve straightened up in his seat. He looked stricken. “Bucky-”</p>
<p>“It hurt. And, I thought, perhaps you would come around to the idea of the marriage. Of an arrangement that would benefit us both. I hoped you might get to know me, and that we would find things in common. My parents’ engagement was arranged, once. They enjoy a happy union. A rewarding one.” Bucky held out his hands. “We could, Steve, if you were willing. If you are still willing. I’ve learned the ways of your farm, and we’ve-”</p>
<p>“You’ve <i>managed</i> the farm,” Steve interjected. “You’ve managed <i>me</i>, after a fashion.”</p>
<p>“Have I?” Bucky shook his head. “You’re a stubborn, hardheaded man. I’ve done no such thing. We’ve had disagreements, all while you and Billy have proven that I’m - what was it that Billy was so fond of calling me? - a useless, pretty eejit.”</p>
<p>Steve felt a ripple of shame. “You aren’t useless. But, he was right. You won’t ever quite fit into living on a farm. You should be traveling and associating with the right people, not selling pickles at the market or scattering seed for chickens.”</p>
<p>“You don’t feel I fit in.”</p>
<p>“You tried,” Steve said, recanting slightly. “Oh, how you tried. It must have been exhausting. So far out of your norm.”</p>
<p>“What’s my norm? Being fancy?” Bucky scoffed, using Billy’s term that he despised. More tears leaked and slipped down his cheeks, wetting his coat. He used his scarf to swipe at them and daub at his runny nose. “I guess I know where you stand, now. I know you’re angry at me for lying, Steve, but I can’t regret it. I can only be sorry that I hurt you, but I needed to know you. I needed to know what I was missing, when you… when you left me behind.”</p>
<p>“Bucky… damn it.”</p>
<p>“You’ve been so blunt. I know I deserved it. And I know now that you can’t accept who I am as much as I’d hoped. Good Lord, Steve. You don’t know how much I’ve dreaded this moment. How hard I’d hoped against this. I never wanted to earn your scorn.” His voice broke as he took his hat and backed his way toward the door. “I’m so sorry, Steve. So sorry.”</p>
<p>“Bucky-”</p>
<p>“I’ll never trouble you again. I promise. I broke my promise to my father when I came here, so it’s too late to honor it, but I don’t darken your doorstep or lie to you anymore. I’ve lost your trust, and Billy’s.” Bucky’s eyes were bloodshot and glistening, and Steve’s hands clenched as he stood.</p>
<p>“Bucky!”</p>
<p>“Goodbye, Steve.”</p>
<p>Bucky rushed out, unable to watch Steve’s face and his emotions. So much disbelief and confusion, mingled with the anger that followed Bucky’s explanations.</p>
<p>The memory of Steve telling him he loved him felt like a dream, as though it had happened to someone else.</p>
<p>Perhaps it had.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Billy watched him leave through the window, and he saw Steve stumbling after him in the snow, without a damned coat. “Steve, don’t,” he growled under his breath. “At least bundle yourself. Leave that bastard alone.”</p>
<p>Bucky climbed up onto his wagon and drove away, ignoring Steve’s shambling attempt to chase him and his bellowing cries. “BUCKY! BUCKY! Get back here, damn it! Don’t you leave!”</p>
<p>But Bucky drove off, snapping the reins, glad that he never closed the gate after himself so it wouldn’t hinder his flight. His eyes burned with fresh tears that only blurred the snowy night more. He would never need to return. It was time to finally honor his promise to his father, but at what cost?</p>
<p>Steve shivered against the cold, and he threw up his hands. “BUCKY!” he cried. “PLEASE!”</p>
<p>“Let him go, Steve!”</p>
<p>“He can’t… it’s terrible out here, and he’s riding off in this mess!” Steve argued. “He won’t listen!”</p>
<p>“He’ll manage. Let him run back to his family and warm himself by their hearth and sip their expensive brandy.” Billy gripped Steve’s shoulder and reminded him, “Look. He lied to us both. He ain’t who he said he was. You don’t need that bollocks and nonsense, not when we need to think about the farm.”</p>
<p>“We could lose it. Oh, God, Billy… it’s all my fault.”</p>
<p>“What, not accepting the engagement after all?”</p>
<p>“No. Just… all of this. He’s… oh, Billy, what have I done?”</p>
<p>“Steve-”</p>
<p>“Billy.”</p>
<p>“Just let him go.”</p>
<p>“I can’t. Don’t you understand? I can’t. But I’ve lost him, Billy.” Steve scrubbed his hands down his face. “I’ve lost Bucky.”</p>
<p>Billy watched the enormity of what happened hit him, and his stomach twisted.</p>
<p>His best friend, the poor bastard, was in love with that fancy prig.</p>
<p>“Well. We’ve really stepped in it now, then, haven’t we?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay. I hope anyone reading this can take a moment to unclench, now. I've been trying so hard to work through my exhaustion and writer's block from taking on too many projects. I would like to finish at least ONE of my chaptered stories this year, and this one is probably the closest to being done. I am working on the final chapter as we speak. I PROMISE.</p>
<p>The ending is going to be so sickeningly, comprehensively, unabashedly happy. It's coming. *ducks flung tomatoes*</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Bucky Has a Mischievous Streak, But Steve Loves Him, Anyway</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Do you, James, take Steve to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold-”</p>
<p>“Of course not,” Bucky pronounced, making the smile drop from Steve’s face in an instant.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay. I guess if I was a nicer person, this would have been all lumped together in the last chapter so we don’t go the way of the Unwelcome Cliffhanger and a potential lag in updating, because we know how I am. Yeah. Anyway.</p>
<p>Here we go. Thank you for sticking with this. To those of you who have read and commented on this, even though it was a WIP that took me over a year to finish, I thank you and offer you sanitized, long-distance hugs and kisses. I love Stucky, but it’s hard to write for a fandom that is so saturated and that has such high traffic that your fic only ends up in the top of the new works’ listing page for minutes before you have to scroll to find it. My updates get lost in the morass, and it can be disheartening. But, I still love Steve/Bucky. I hope this story gave someone some joy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The satin pouch tied with its pristine white ribbon mocked him from across the room. Bucky lay curled in his bed the following morning, feeling hollow and raw. He didn’t know how to start his day, not that it no longer involved a ride to the Rogers’ farm. Icy snowflakes crusted his windowpanes, and the last of the fire that he’d list the night before dwindled, threatening to go out if he didn’t stoke it soon.</p>
<p>The clock ticked, a grim reminder that he couldn’t ignore the demands of the day or his family. His father was expecting him at supper. It was Christmas Eve. Bucky managed to finish his meager shopping for presents, even though he felt no joy in it. He managed the visits to the other farms in his father’s collective and delivered small bonuses, a sign of his father’s largesse and good will. Bucky longed to tell them, <i>This isn’t who he truly is. This man destroys dreams, snatching them back once you realize what you want.</i> But he smiled and offered greetings and wishes for a happy season and a blessed year. It was the proper, expected thing for him to do.</p>
<p>Oh, how Bucky <i>loathed</i> doing what was expected of him.</p>
<p>Each visit chipped a little further away at his soul. Bucky returned to his flat and stripped out of his fine suit, stoked up the fire, and crawled into bed. His dreams were troubled and offered no solutions, and no surcease from loss.</p>
<p>Steve’s laughter and the way he’d said Bucky’s name in the heat of passion haunted Bucky. His touch haunted Bucky. Even mundane things like watching him milk the cows or patch the roof haunted Bucky. Bucky wouldn’t sit across the table from him and see his appalling manners, like the way he wiped the milk from his lip with the back of his hand instead of his napkin, or used his spoon instead of his knife to spread too much jam on his bread. Bucky would even miss his - and Billy’s - insults about his cooking.</p>
<p>His sheets didn’t smell like Steve. The other side of the bed was cold as a stone. Bucky gave up and rose, finally, and then he began his ablutions. He warmed a pan of water and poured it into the basin. He stripped down to his breeches and cleansed his skin with some finely milled French soap, a gift from his mother. It smelled nothing like Steve’s soap, only like a hint of lilac.</p>
<p>Bucky prepared his face for a proper shave, something he hadn’t taken the proper time for in what felt like too long. He dipped his bar of soap into the water and worked up a lather that he then rubbed over his jaw, using his blunt nails to work foam under the stubbly hairs. He stropped the razor blade against the strap for several long, smooth strokes and then laid it against his throat, drawing it up. It was tedious, but it felt right to take time with his grooming. Surely, his mother would appreciate the sight of his smooth jaw. Appearances were important whenever he went home. Becca might also tease him less if he didn’t look as wild and unkempt. Farm living had made him relax his grooming standards, because Steve and Billy didn’t stand on ceremony, did they?</p>
<p>He didn’t have time to have his hair cut, so he shaved, brushed his teeth with his tooth powder, and dabbed on a bit of cologne. Once he finished washing, he dressed himself in his shirt and trousers before combing pomade into his hair. Bucky slipped on his burgundy brocade vest and tucked a clean handkerchief into his pocket, and he hung the watch his father gave him as a graduation present from its delicate gold fob. He tied a perfect cravat, adding a gleaming pearl pin. The chocolate brown suit jacket was made from worsted wool, warm and comforting as a hug when he slipped it on and fastened its buttons.</p>
<p>There.</p>
<p>He would cut enough of a dash to please his mother and make just the right impression at her supper table. And Bucky schooled himself as he gathered up his gifts into a tidy pile by the door.</p>
<p>“The Americas. Father will want you to consider the Americas. Tobacco,” he muttered. “There’s a proper use of your education, James Buchanan.” His voice held bitterness and resignation. </p>
<p>He glanced back at his manuscript, its thick, neat stack of pages tied up with twine. There was a chance it would never see the light of day, now. But, this wasn’t the time to chase pipe dreams. </p>
<p>Bucky had to shift his focus. He would never truly get over loving Steve Rogers and then losing him. He knew this, but the pragmatic side of him begged him to see reason. Steve was tempting, because Steve was forbidden. Perhaps that was a great deal of appeal.</p>
<p>Bucky considered the other lies he could tell himself. He had such a talent for telling them to other people, after all.</p>
<p>He rode out into the night, deciding he could sell his wagon in the morning. Perhaps when he traveled across the ocean and managed the tobacco plantation, he would be able to afford a proper carriage. It would only hurt more to hold onto so many reminders of loving Steven Rogers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jarvis let Bucky into the house and relieved him of his coat, hat and scarf. “Good evening, Mister Barnes. Happy Christmas Eve, sir.”</p>
<p>“Happy Christmas Eve,” he returned hollowly, offering him a polite smile. Jarvis noticed that it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and he gave his arm a warm pat.</p>
<p>“Your mother has been eager to see you. It’s all she’s talked about all day. And Wanda and Pietro have been hard at work in the kitchen.”</p>
<p>“I can smell their efforts. It’s making my mouth water.” Bucky could smell some of his favorite biscuits, like the Russian teacakes, some coconut macaroons, and a cherry-studded butter cookie that he could never get enough of as a child. He also caught notes of cinnamon and cloves, telling him that Pietro had brewed some holiday cider. </p>
<p>“Then come inside and warm yourself by the fire, sir. Welcome home.” Jarvis’ tone was kind. Bucky heard Becca’s footsteps rushing downstairs, and he caught sight of her, automatically holding his arms open. She nearly tackled him, not caring that it wasn’t ladylike.</p>
<p>“Oh, Bucket. You terrible brat. I’ve missed you so much.” She playfully tried to root through his vest pockets. “What did you bring me?”</p>
<p>“Absolutely nothing, except for a lump of coal.”</p>
<p>She gave him a shove, but he handed over a tiny bundle. She recognized the tulle-wrapped packet of chocolates that had to have come from Clint’s confectionery.</p>
<p>“Ooh! You do love me. Give them over, quickly!”</p>
<p>“No, I don’t know. I think a certain sister told me I’m terrible-”</p>
<p>“You’re the sweetest terrible brother in the world.”</p>
<p>“Oh, <i>fine.</i>” He handed her the sweets, and she kissed his cheek. Becca looped her arm through his and practically dragged him into the study. There was an enormous Christmas tree dressed in strands of cranberries and popcorn. Blown glass ornaments caught the light, twinkling at Bucky and bringing back memories of when his mother acquired them. Bayberry and beeswax candles were lit on every table in fine silver candelabras, and a fire roared, warming the space and making it cozy. It was blessedly familiar, but Bucky still felt hollow. </p>
<p>Steve should have been sharing this with him. There were so many things he should have shared with him, instead of a convenient ruse and a shambling attempt at wooing him. </p>
<p>Bucky almost spat out the chocolate that Becca shoved into his mouth without warning, and he gave her a look of confusion. “What… Becca!” he mumbled around the soft, melting truffle.</p>
<p>“Don’t say I never share anything with you.”</p>
<p>“Can you warn me first?”</p>
<p>“Where’s the sport in that?”</p>
<p>“And you call <i>me</i> terrible.”</p>
<p>“Are you two quarreling on Christmas Eve?” Winifred cried as she swept into the study. But she was radiant and smiling, wearing a lovely, mint green gown dripping with scalloped lace, accompanied by her emerald choker and matching ear bobs. She reached for Bucky and embraced him eagerly. “There’s my lovely boy. I’m so glad you’ve made it here unscathed, James. It’s terrible out tonight.”</p>
<p>“It’s just snow.”</p>
<p>“I know, but you know how I feel about that awful wagon of yours, James. I do wish you would have considered purchasing a carriage, your father would have-”</p>
<p>“The wagon has served me well, Mama. But, you may be pleased to know I am considering selling it.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Well. What made up your mind?”</p>
<p>“Just… a change in my thinking. A recent one.”</p>
<p>Winifred patted his cheek and kissed him. “You’ve always been so bright, James. You’ve matured so much over these past few months.” She went to the stairs and called up to her husband, “GEORGE! Please, come down. James is here. We can begin supper.”</p>
<p>George joined them shortly, and he eyed his son curiously. “This is a nice change,” he pronounced.</p>
<p>“I thought Mother would appreciate it.”</p>
<p>“She does,” Winifred confirmed, smiling brightly as Jarvis pulled out her seat for her. He helped to seat the family while Wanda began to serve them all. Pietro had, indeed, outdone himself. The roast goose was tender and savory. Boiled new potatoes dripped with butter and rosemary. There was a boat of exquisite, rich gravy studded with bits of meat, a dish of green peas seasoned with mint jelly, turnips, dressing rich with onions and sage, and a piquant cranberry sauce with a hint of orange rind. Jarvis ladled the cider neatly into fine china cups. Bucky felt his stomach twist with anticipation and frustration. </p>
<p>George made the join hands and said the grace.</p>
<p>“Oh, Heavenly Father, bless our family and this food that we are about to receive. You have blessed us with the return of our beloved son. May you continue to grant our family mercy and grace. Amen.” The fine linen napkins landed in their laps, and they gave the food the attention it deserved.</p>
<p>Winifred cut her roast goose and watched Bucky.</p>
<p>“Try the dressing, dear. It’s your favorite.”</p>
<p>“I will,” Bucky promised as he picked apart a boiled potato with his fork. Jarvis offered him the gravy, but he declined with a brief smile and a shake of his head.</p>
<p>“You’re looking well,” George said. “Perhaps not as well rested as usual, however.”</p>
<p>“You <i>do</i> look a bit tired, dear. Not quite “peaked,” but… not quite your usual self,” Winifred remarked, echoing her husband’s concern.</p>
<p>“I should rest better tonight,” Bucky promised.</p>
<p>“Of course you will, once we feast on all of this,” Becca told him cheerfully as she scooped up a bite of dressing with a dab of cranberry. But even she looked a bit concerned, noticing Bucky’s subdued manner and lack of enthusiasm for his favorite foods. Then, she piped up, “I hope you’ve gotten me something lovely” just to lighten the mood.</p>
<p>“For my most terrible sister? You didn’t believe me about the lump of coal?”</p>
<p>“That should feed the fire quite nicely,” George added, and Bucky caught the curl of his lips beneath his mustache.</p>
<p>“You’re both dreadful. Mama, tell Papa he’s dreadful, too.”</p>
<p>“He’s perfectly aware of this, darling.”</p>
<p>“We both know you merely scraped up some pocket lint from your least favorite frock and wrapped it up with a bow for me,” Bucky teased back.</p>
<p>“Well, I added some dust from the dustpan, too,” Becca said. “Enough to give it substance.”</p>
<p>“Lucky, lucky me.”</p>
<p>They continued to eat, and Bucky finally made an effort with his roast goose. He managed a bite of dressing, but it tasted like dust in his mouth. He nodded to Jarvis for a bit of the gravy; he dutifully poured a dab of it onto Bucky’s dressing. Bucky washed down the bite he’d already taken with some cider, thankful that it was laced with cordial.</p>
<p>“I hope you’ve given some thought to my offer,” George told him. </p>
<p>“Father… I have. Perhaps we can discuss it in the study after supper.”</p>
<p>“You could discuss it now,” Becca suggested. </p>
<p>“No, Becca. They don’t have to discuss it here,” Winifred scolded. </p>
<p>Bucky was impressed that his mother was showing such self-restraint. It still made him feel guilty, because he knew that the discussion ahead was likely to grow unpleasant.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>
  <i>The night before Christmas Eve:</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Steve rummaged through his attic and unpacked another trunk, searching it for things he could possibly sell to keep the vultures from his door.</p>
<p>He found his mother’s wedding silver and some of her china. A few pieces of it were slightly chipped, but the intact ones might fetch a few pence. Steve hoped he wouldn’t have to sell her jewelry; some flicker of hope lived in his chest that one day, when he had a family, he might have a daughter to pass it the precious items on to, now that he wasn’t hard pressed to accept a husband. Yet, Steve knew he hadn’t a prayer of another offer of matrimony if he went bankrupt and lost his family estate. A bright future wasn’t made in a tiny, drafty flat or in a boardinghouse room, was it?</p>
<p>It was too much. Steve tucked the items back within the folds of the cloth and closed the trunk. He didn’t have the heart to make this decision yet. His eyes scanned the attic for possible sacrifices that would keep him and Billy afloat a while longer. </p>
<p>He considered the faded, cream-colored sheets shrouding his finest works and sighed. Steve rose to his feet, dusted his hands off on his legs, and removed the drape from the first canvas, the largest one in his collection.</p>
<p>He would never have enough time to paint enough commissions to sell to make any sort of profit, but at least he could sell a few of the ones he already had to offset some of his expenses until his next harvest. Springtime was too far ahead, and George Barnes’ deadline loomed before him, threatening to swallow him up.</p>
<p>The painting was another pastoral scene of the hills, one of his favorite views. He’d even included a herd of his neighbors’ sheep. He removed the drape from another. It was a romantic-styled portrait of Mikhail playing his violin, rendered in deep, gray and blue tones. He’d painted it from memory, paying loving attention to his rapt expression and the arch of his fingers over the strings. Steve remembered the night in the Rasputin parlor and how it felt to hold Bucky and feel his laughter vibrating through his chest. Would Steve ever have a reason to dance with anyone again?</p>
<p>Steve found the other paintings. Fifteen works of different sizes and subjects. He considered them. Johann had been willing to show his landscape rendering without hesitation, even if he demanded a hefty portion of the commission on consignment. Something was better than nothing. Steve began to carry the paintings downstairs, and Billy looked up from his ledger where he worked on it at the table.</p>
<p>“What are you doing with those?”</p>
<p>“I’m going to do what I should have done up until now and sell them. I have to.”</p>
<p>“Well, that make fine sense, Steve.” Billy sighed. “I just wish it would make a lick of difference. We need a miracle.”</p>
<p>“No. We needed staff. And equipment. And capital. We needed all of this all along. Perhaps we never had a prayer, Billy.”</p>
<p>“Bollocks. Don’t feed me that shit, Rogers. We tried. We tried yesterday, we are trying today, and we’ll wake up and damn well try again tomorrow. Sell those fancy paintings. There’s nothing to lose by it, is there?”</p>
<p>“No. Not anymore.”</p>
<p>There was only one that Steve planned to keep.</p>
<p>It remained upstairs under its drape to protect it from dust and moisture. He couldn’t part with it. If it served of a reminder of how much he’d lost, well. Steve was no stranger to loss.</p>
<p>Yet, he couldn’t look at it now. He would wait. When he finally had the time to catch his breath after working through their expenses and soliciting some offers on his paintings, he would gaze on it again, and reflect. And grieve.</p>
<p>“Are you going to go into town now?”</p>
<p>“I won’t take the paintings yet,” Steve decided. “I want to stop by Schmidt’s. I’d like to see if anyone was interested in the last one I left in his shop.”</p>
<p>“Sure would be nice if he moved it. I remember that one. Lovely work. Always thought it would look nice hanging in your front room.”</p>
<p>Steve bundled himself into his coat, mittens and hat, wrapped his scarf snugly around his face, and ventured out into the misty chill and powdery snow. He wasn’t eager for the ride into town. It reminded him too much of going with Bucky to the farmer’s market and listening to him bickering with Billy over their wares and how to present them for the most effective sale. This ride was lonely. It didn’t feel like Christmas Eve other than being another holiday where Steve lacked a family, wealth, or necessities. The weather around him echoed his emotions; sunshine would have felt like a slap in the face.</p>
<p>Steve neared the city limits and saw the brightly lit streets and festive wreaths that dressed windows and doors. He wished he could enjoy its flamboyant beauty. He rode up to Schmidt’s shop and hitched his horses, and he stamped the snow from his boots before entering. Schmidt was in the back, but there were a few shoppers gathered there, attempting to stock their homes and farms before another storm built and snowed everyone in. Downtown, families were purchasing Christmas beef and fowl, breads and brandy, and Steve wished he could offer some of this largesse to Billy for him to take home to <i>his</i> family. He knew that Billy would at least go with Teddy for the holiday to raise a cup of punch and eat a decent supper. Steve contemplated accepting the Rasputins’ invitation to supper, but he knew they could hardly spare another plate.</p>
<p>Johann finally emerged from his back room with a large sack of feed for a customer. Before Steve could get his attention, he heard a voice behind him.</p>
<p>“Steve!” Sam cried, reaching for him to clap him on the back. His smile was infectious and welcoming. “I didn’t expect to find you out on a night like this!”</p>
<p>“I needed to speak to Johann about a business matter?”</p>
<p>“Like the way he raised the price of his feed again?” Sam murmured as he pulled Steve close, keeping his tone conspiratorial and low. “He relies far too much on supply and demand. What he charges for feed is an absolute <i>crime</i>.”</p>
<p>Steve chuckled mirthlessly, nodding.</p>
<p>“You look sad.”</p>
<p>“The past few days have been rough. I’m afraid I’m not feeling very festive, Sam.”</p>
<p>“It’s always difficult for you at this time of year,” Sam allowed. “So. You’re not here about feed.”</p>
<p>“No. I’m here because Johann promised me he-”</p>
<p>“Steven!” Johann called out, waving to Steve from the counter. “Pardon me, Mrs. Drew. I must speak with Mr. Rogers, I only need a moment of his time.” He beckoned to Steve again, and Sam followed him as he approached the counter, smiling apologetically to the people waiting in front of him.</p>
<p>“Good evening, Johann.”</p>
<p>“It’s a fine evening, when I’m this busy,” Johann agreed, even though his smile was still a pathetic, noncommittal little thing. </p>
<p>“Johann, you told me you were planning to display my painting so it could be sold,” Steve said. His brow was wrinkled with concern.</p>
<p>“So I did,” Johann agreed.</p>
<p>“So, where is it?”</p>
<p>“No longer in my shop. It sold. Quite handsomely, too.” Johann opened his till and counted out a handful of paper notes. He handed them to Steve with a flourish. “This is what was left after I took my consignment fee.”</p>
<p>Steve counted the thin stack of notes. They were of larger denominations than he’d expected. “Your consignment was a bit steep, but… but, you sold it.” Steve nodded to him reluctantly. “Thank you, Johann.”</p>
<p>Johann huffed. “You aren’t a well-known artist. I wasn’t certain that I would be able to sell it, even though it was a pleasant work. But, your buyer was enthusiastic about it.”</p>
<p>“Who purchased it?”</p>
<p>Johann tried to turn back to his other customers.</p>
<p>“Johann… who purchased it? Can you please tell me who?”</p>
<p>Johann sighed, considering Steve for a moment. “One Mr. James Barnes.”</p>
<p>Steve’s heart tried to pound its way out of his chest.</p>
<p>Sam followed him out of the store. He was smiling. Steve felt numb.</p>
<p>“You have a patron,” Sam remarked.</p>
<p>“No. No, I don’t.”</p>
<p>“This Mr. Barnes recognized talent when he saw it.”</p>
<p>“No. This ‘Mr. Barnes’ is exactly the man you think he is.”</p>
<p>“Your abandoned groom.” And Sam sighed, pausing before he added, “And your farm’s manager.”</p>
<p>Steve stopped in his tracks on his way to his wagon. He whipped around and stared at Sam as the snow dusted their heavy clothing and hair. “Sam… don’t tell me you <i>knew</i>?!”</p>
<p>“Steve. I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“Sam… no! Please, tell me you didn’t let me labor under this delusion!”</p>
<p>“You chose to labor under it, Steve. Because I think, somehow, you knew. You may not wish to hear this, and sometimes, as your friend, I need to share uncomfortable truths with you, whether its to remind you that you can’t leave the house in a stained waistcoat or that your sleeve isn’t your handkerchief. I’ve fought that battle with you for <i>years.</i> You suspected Bucky wasn’t just a manager. You knew.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t-”</p>
<p>“You <i>must</i> have. Why would George Barnes, a man of considerable wealth and experience, send a man so untried to manage your farm? You said it yourself. Bucky didn’t even know the correct side of a cow to milk from, and he was there to work on your ledgers and dictate your harvest?” Sam laughed, shaking his head. “The only man who would take a chance on a gentleman like Bucky, educated and filigreed though he was, was if that gentleman was his <i>son</i>.” But Sam shrugged. “That’s an enormous lie to tell, but an even more mind-boggling one for you to <i>believe</i>.”</p>
<p>“Sam-”</p>
<p>“And, I admit, I knew. And I’m sorry. I have to apologize to you, because I’ve known since this past autumn. I recognized him from church.” </p>
<p>“Sam, I don’t understand! If you care about me at all, why keep his secret?”</p>
<p>“Because, he was hurting, and this isn’t just about <i>you</i>. You still felt ashamed about your part in this. About the way you abandoned him. You haven’t forgotten about that little detail, have you? Because, I know James hasn’t, but he still held out hope.”</p>
<p>“Hope? What did he hope for?”</p>
<p>“That you could love him,” Sam said simply. “That you would consider him and not find him lacking. That he could manage to please you if he offered himself to you, instead of letting his father arrange a marriage with a too-short engagement.”</p>
<p>“He was willing to marry me, sight unseen!” Steve bellowed. He turned his back on Sam and tugged off his cap, scrubbing his hand through his hair.</p>
<p>“That should give you an idea of the lengths he would go to in order to please his father, but you should also consider that he was very open to the idea of marriage. Marriage to a hardworking farmer who is well known and respected in his community.”</p>
<p>“Hard work… what has that gotten me?” Steve scoffed. “I’m about to fall into ruin, and Bucky has left me. He knows I can’t trust him, now, and…” Steve’s voice trailed off. Sam watched his shoulders sag, then shake.</p>
<p>“Steve…”</p>
<p>“Sam, I’ve… I’ve made a mistake. I’ve run him off.”</p>
<p>“Oh, Steve.”</p>
<p>“I rejected him. Again. I rejected James <i>again</i>.”</p>
<p>“Oh, for goodness sake,” Sam muttered. “What on earth is <i>wrong</i> with you two?!”</p>
<p>“I don’t know. Oh, Sam, I don’t know how this managed to go so wrong. Fate was cruel…”</p>
<p>“Fate?” Sam argued. “No. Fate isn’t cruel. Life will throw you opportunities, Steve. And what you do with them is <i>entirely</i> up to you. And it was up to Bucky. He made the choice to carry out this ruse. <i>You</i> chose not to believe your own eyes.”</p>
<p>Steve’s own words came back to haunt him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <i>This is ridiculous! I’ve been getting by fine on my own, all this time, and now this man has the audacity to just write a fancy letter full of ‘beneficial arrangements’ asking me to marry his son who I haven’t even met! What is wrong with this son that he needs his father to make the proposal?</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Wonder if the son is agreeable to this arrangement?</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>How would he even feel about living on a farm? There’s no place for idle hands out here.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>This son of his has gone to university. Bet he’s never had so much as a dirty fingernail in his life.</i>
</p>
<p>Bucky <i>had</i> been agreeable. So agreeable, in fact, that he pursued Steve. Insinuated himself into his space, his home. His feelings. And he shone so brightly that Steve couldn’t look away. Bucky occupied his mind and his heart in every way. Seeing his empty chair at the breakfast table pained him.</p>
<p>“I warned him that he should have told you, and he didn’t listen, and now, here, look at you.” Sam took out his handkerchief and handed it to Steve, whose eyes were glassy and red-rimmed with tears. Steve wiped his face and sniffled, shaking his head as he twisted the fabric in his hands.</p>
<p>“I don’t know what to do, Sam. I’ve lost him. I’ve lost <i>everything.</i> DId you know about the arrangement? About the contract?”</p>
<p>“I knew about the engagement contract.”</p>
<p>“But there is a very binding <i>business</i> contract, now, that I have to honor. I haven’t turned enough of a profit to pay off the deed to the bank. I was to have two more months, but now… Bucky has left. He won’t manage us anymore, because I drove him off. George Barnes will have no choice now but to cancel my contract.”</p>
<p>“Will he?”</p>
<p>“Wouldn’t you, in his position, Sam?”</p>
<p>“Let’s give this some thought. I know why Bucky kept his identity a secret from <i>you</i>.” Sam mulled this. He gave Steve a little shake. “There’s no way that his father could have agreed to this. Managing the farm? Perhaps. But not wooing its principal tenant.”</p>
<p>“He was ready to marry Bucky off to me.”</p>
<p>“Before you left him at the altar, Steve. I remember the moment that Bucky recognized me. I scared the wits out of that poor man. He acted like he had seen a ghost when I set foot in your barn that afternoon.”</p>
<p>“Because <i>you</i> recognized <i>him</i>.”</p>
<p>“That couldn’t have been the only reason. Steve, he was <i>desperate</i> for me to keep his secret. Do you think anyone else knew?”</p>
<p>“I don’t think so. Oh, Sam, I don’t know!”</p>
<p>“Has anyone else been out to the farm?”</p>
<p>“No. No one who comes immediately to…”</p>
<p>Steve’s voice trailed off. His face grew very pale, and Sam recognized panic in his eyes. A dawning realization, one that hit Steve like ice water.</p>
<p>“Steve? You’re <i>certain</i>?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“There was a man. He said… he was a surveyor of some kind.”</p>
<p>“What was his name?”</p>
<p>“Lord, I can’t remember… wait. It was… Fury. Nicholas Fury, I think.”</p>
<p>Sam’s gut twisted. “Steve. He’s not a surveyor. He’s one of my father’s childhood friends who followed him into armed service before he attended seminary school. Mr. Fury is a private investigator.”</p>
<p>“What on earth was he investigating on my farm?”</p>
<p>“Your so-called manager. And my money is on him working for Mr. George Barnes.”</p>
<p>Steve shook his head, but Sam nodded just as emphatically.</p>
<p>“Bucky did nothing wrong!”</p>
<p>“Oh, <i>now</i> you say he did nothing wrong,” Sam tsked. “Honestly, Steve. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I will always want the best for you, no matter what. I love you like a brother. But I’m tempted to clop you over the head if it will knock some sense into that thick head of yours.” Sam’s sigh was ragged and world-weary. “Bucky may not have committed a crime, but there’s no way on God’s green earth that he wanted his father to find out that he was working with you on your farm.”</p>
<p>“But. Sam. I’ve still lost him.”</p>
<p>“Not yet.”</p>
<p>“But, I have. And I’ve lost the farm.”</p>
<p>“Not yet,” Sam insisted. “We’re going to go home.”</p>
<p>“I know. I have to gather my paintings.”</p>
<p>“Not your home. Not yet. My home, Steve. We’re going to go through some of my things and find you something decent to wear. It’s too late to get you to a tailor, and we won’t find anything anyway, with this crowd, this close to Christmas Day.”</p>
<p>“Sam, why do I need to dress up?”</p>
<p>“Because it’s important to make a strong impression with the right people. That’s something you’ve needed to do for a long time. You managed to sell a painting-”</p>
<p>“To Bucky,” Steve said, cutting him off. “Which is ridiculous.”</p>
<p>“No. He wanted something made by your hands, and he has good taste in art, if not men,” Sam joked. Steve gave him a rude look. </p>
<p>“I told him I didn’t want him spending his own money on my farm.”</p>
<p>“He didn’t. He made himself a patron of your art. That’s different. That’s <i>entirely</i> different.”</p>
<p>“I can’t expect him to pay off my deed, now, can I?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No. But you <i>will</i> put on a proper suit, and perhaps we can bring you closer to doing that yourself.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Steve and Sam both stayed awake into the night, going through Sam’s wardrobe. Steve allowed Sam to fuss over him endlessly, while Sam’s sister Sarah and brother Gideon dropped in, hovering in the doorway and sitting on Sam’s bed, respectively, watching each time that Steve stepped out from behind the dressing screen in a different suit and vest.</p>
<p>“That might look nice, with the blue,” Sarah mused. “I like that burgundy cravat on you, Steve.”</p>
<p>“You almost look civilized,” Gideon joked.</p>
<p>“Do I look like a skilled artist?” Steve asked.</p>
<p>“I’d have to see your paintings, wouldn’t I?” Gideon told him. “But, now you look less like you’ve been rolling in the pen with the hogs.”</p>
<p>“That’s certainly a fine start,” Sam decided, grinning with his full wattage and dimples.</p>
<p>Steve decided his best friend was a terrible man who managed to have impeccable taste in clothing. It took them two hours to find something suitable, before Sarah and GIdeon each went yawning off to bed.</p>
<p>“All right. Now, go home and gather up those paintings. Cover them up well and bring them here. We will leave them in the parlor. Mother might have some ideas of how to arrange them to make them even more pleasing to the eye.”</p>
<p>“This is your idea? Sam, your mother is going to serve her Christmas supper to your father’s colleagues.”</p>
<p>“Many of whom have deep pockets. And wives with discerning tastes. Don’t fret. Just hurry home, as quickly as you can manage in this mess, before it becomes a blizzard.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <i>Christmas Eve:</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bucky allowed Jarvis to refill his cup with the cider before he retired with his father to the study. Becca and Winifred lingered in the kitchen with Wanda and Pietro, nibbling on biscuits and enjoying cups of tea. Becca begged her mother to have the family stay awake until midnight to open presents, but Winifred told her that could wait until morning, after a proper night’s sleep, and that the presents weren’t going anywhere. Bucky felt anxious but resigned as his father lit his pipe.</p>
<p>“Can I assume that you’ve considered my offer?” George settled himself in his favorite chair, propping his feet on the ottoman while Bucky stared down into his cup.</p>
<p>“I have.”</p>
<p>“And, what is your decision?”</p>
<p>“I have given it some consideration.” Bucky let out a shaky breath and pressed forward. “I have decided to accept your offer. I will go to the Americas and manage your tobacco farm, Father.”</p>
<p>George smiled, humming briefly. He puffed on his pipe for a moment and glanced around the study. “I’m relieved that you see reason and that you agree that this is the most feasible, sensible choice.”</p>
<p>“Feasible,” Bucky mused. “I suppose it <i>is</i> feasible.”</p>
<p>George cocked his brow. “Of course it is. Look around you.” George gestured at the study. “Look what our business has allowed us to have, son. We live comfortably because what I’ve worked for and what I’ve allowed to grow. You won’t afford a roast goose on a writer’s pittance.”</p>
<p>“How about on a farmer’s income?” Bucky suggested. “Surely, if I had married Steve Rogers, I would have had to eventually subsist on his farm’s income. We wouldn’t have benefited from your generosity forever.”</p>
<p>“I never would have expected you to, even if you had married that ingrate,” George muttered. “Marrying him was a means to an end. It would have been a business arrangement, more than anything else.”</p>
<p>“Because business is all you care about in regard to what I do?”</p>
<p>“You’re my heir.”</p>
<p>“I’m your <i>son</i>,” Bucky corrected him quietly.</p>
<p>“Are we going back to that again? Of course you’re my son, James. And I love you. That’s why I encourage you to reach for opportunities like this one when they arise. Even though you seem determined to throw them away at every turn.”</p>
<p>Bucky felt an unpleasant tingle. George sighed.</p>
<p>“I have to admit, I was very displeased to find that you had violated our agreement and pursued a relationship with Steve.”</p>
<p>“Father…”</p>
<p>“Don’t rush to defend your decision. I will have my say in this matter.”</p>
<p>Bucky broke out into a cold sweat and his heart began to pound. He took a sip of cider, but it didn’t give him any courage. His hand shook when he set the cup back onto the saucer and placed them on the settee.</p>
<p>“I told you not to work on his farm. I told you not to support him financially. I forbade you from providing him with equipment, supplies, or monetary gifts. And I told you that I no longer wished for you to pursue a relationship with him, whether it was a friendship or anything more serious. And in every regard, you disobeyed me.”</p>
<p>Bucky shook his head, but George held up his hand.</p>
<p>“Don’t sit there and come up with fabrications. You fancy yourself a writer, but I will not tolerate your tales, James. Or, <i>Bucky.</i>” George huffed a laugh. “That was clever, I will admit it. Bucky Barton. You formed an identity for yourself. I heard through my sources that you claimed to be the candy maker’s cousin? How droll.” George drew on his pipe and sipped his brandy. “I conduct business with every shop in town, and with every farm. Word was eventually going to get back to me, son.”</p>
<p>“It wasn’t supposed to.”</p>
<p>“Well, of course it wasn’t. I am sorry that your plan backfired. I imagine you must feel rather put out.”</p>
<p>“So, what does this mean, then, Father?”</p>
<p>“Well, of course, since you violated your end of our agreement, then I no longer have to honor mine. Even though you didn’t use any of my business accounts to purchase goods for the Rogers farm, I still have written proof of those transactions, as well as documented proof from Mr. Fury, my investigator that I hired.”</p>
<p>“You have proof that I used my own funds?” Bucky’s tone was a low, unimpressed scoff. “You show me every time I return home how comfortably you’ve built our home, even though it’s become a beautifully appointed, gilded cage. I found my own flat. I lived on my earnings, from my own labors, and yes, some of that labor took place on the Rogers farm. I did what you would have had me do if I had married Steve. I managed his farm and reviewed his expenses and tracked his profits and collaborated with him on business decisions. And I will admit, it was difficult in the beginning. Steve was a man hard pressed to do things on his own. Unlike me, Steve didn’t have a family to provide him with all of this. You boast to me about our place in the community, but Sarah Rogers was a fine woman of strong character and a generous heart. She didn’t build a fortune from <i>other people’s hard work.</i> Everything she did, she did to support her only child. And Steven Rogers is a good man, Father. You presented him with an impossible choice. And when he decided he wanted no part of it, after all, you punished him for it. You punished him for claiming his own freedom.”</p>
<p>“Freedom,” George spat. “What you call freedom, I call living like a pauper. I’m going to the bank after New Year’s Day. I am going to have them sign the deed over to me and call in Mr. Roger’s debt. I’ve given him enough leniency, and so have you. James-”</p>
<p>“No. Don’t call me that.”</p>
<p>George sighed. “Bucky. My son. I’m doing what’s best for you. Some time in another town will give you perspective, and perhaps, a fresh start. No more false names, no more riding about in a broken-down wagon, dressed in rags, claiming to be someone else. You will earn an honest living. You may, after some time, find someone who shares your social position and privileges who is worth marrying, and who has a stronger character. And when that happens, I will give you my full support.”</p>
<p>“Leniency. Such a virtue, Father, your <i>leniency</i>. Except, that I don’t share that trait. I haven’t been ‘lenient’ with Steve. I care for him. He holds my heart.”</p>
<p>It was a relief to finally confess to his father, even though it wouldn’t make a difference, now. It wouldn’t save Steve’s farm or put Bucky back in his father’s good graces.</p>
<p>George shook his head. “Rubbish. How could he, when he abandoned you?”</p>
<p>“We won’t see this the same way,” Bucky said. “I know that, and… I don’t wish for more unpleasantness between us, Father. But, I feel you may be too hasty about the deed. I think you should give Steve the remaining two months to earn what he needs to pay off the deed for his farm.”</p>
<p>“What on earth for?”</p>
<p>“Because, as we have discussed, it wasn’t <i>his</i> debt. It was his uncle’s. And you have been toying with him by holding his home and his livelihood over his head this entire time.” Bucky took another sip of his cider, enjoying the notes of clove. “But, I think there is something that I can do that will help you to see my way of thinking in regard to Steve.”</p>
<p>“Oh? And what might that be?”</p>
<p>“I can make you a bargain. I will go to the Americas for as long as you want me to. I will manage your tobacco farm properly and help you to expand your holdings. I will do that as James Barnes, son of George Barnes.” Bucky paused. “And I will do that once you agree to let Steve Rogers complete the term of his contract and do what he can to pay off the deed to his farm with the bank.”</p>
<p>George removed his pipe from his mouth and simply stared. Bucky raised his brows in challenge and smiled.</p>
<p>“Think about it, Father. You tell me you have concerns and a lack of faith about my character, and about Steve’s, and how they both reflect on <i>you</i>.” Bucky felt a shifting in his resolve. “And you will look like the bigger man if you grant Steve leniency in his contract. No one else knows about my end of your bargain. No one knows that I was forbidden to enter a working relationship, or an intimate one, with Steve Rogers. There is no need for what we had to harm your character or the community’s perception of you one bit.”</p>
<p>“If I refuse to honor your request?”</p>
<p>“Then, I will simply go my own way.”</p>
<p>“Go your own… you mean to tell me, you would be penniless? With no resources or connections? To… write?!”</p>
<p>“Or whatever else my heart desires.”</p>
<p>“I won’t have it.”</p>
<p>“I’m a grown man, Father. You won’t grant all of my wishes. You’ve made that plain. I find that I can only grant so many of yours.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p><i>New Year’s Eve</i>:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bucky packed up his two small trunks with his meager belongings, including his bathing and shaving items, his books, and his dishes and set them aside by the front door. He’d packed most of his clothing into a larger trunk that he’d purchased with some of the money left from selling Clint’s old wagon. Bucky cleaned his flat and gave most of his food to his neighbors so that it wouldn’t spoil. George had informed him that his boat to New York was due to leave within ten days. Bucky, in the meantime, could stay with George and Winifred until then and settle his affairs before his trip.</p>
<p>It felt so strange to be leaving his home, even though he hadn’t lived there long. His flat felt like something he had accomplished for himself, and he hated to part with it. Staying at his family home felt wrong. Bucky felt like he had failed, somehow, to take flight. His mood darkened even more when he thought about leaving Steve with the knowledge of Bucky’s deception. </p>
<p>It was for the best that he was leaving. He could put the memory of a leaky roof and rats hiding in hay lofts and gathering eggs far behind him. Steve and Billy would muddle through, somehow, or they wouldn’t, but Bucky wouldn’t be there deterring them or getting in the way with his attempts to help. Steve would find someone else to marry, and-</p>
<p>Bucky’s eyes burned and his throat felt clogged. “Damn it,” he hissed.</p>
<p>His father was due to go to the bank the next day. Bucky’s life would change forever.</p>
<p>Bucky wondered if it would be kinder this way, if he didn’t have to live in the same community as his former groom, going forward. Even if he grew some true courage and ventured out on his own, Steve wouldn’t want him. Not after his deception. That was what hurt most of all. </p>
<p>Winifred had loved the painting. Bucky didn’t tell her where it came from. George, too, showed remarkable self-restraint in that regard. She promptly hung it up in the dining room in an ornate brass frame. Bucky pretended that it didn’t hurt to see it.</p>
<p>The cufflinks never left their satin pouch. Bucky closed them up in a cabinet, intending to take them back to the jeweler’s before he traveled. It gave him cold comfort that he would have that money, his own funds, to spend from on his journey. His father wouldn’t have full control of him.</p>
<p>His future in the Americas could become a new freedom, perhaps. Surely, his father didn’t have investigators across the ocean yet?</p>
<p>His thoughts remained dark as he continued to clean his flat and empty the cupboards. His father’s courier was due to collect Bucky’s things, and Bucky would leave his flat the next day to return home.</p>
<p>Just as Bucky closed his curtains, he heard a knock at the door. He frowned, wondering who on earth it could be at that hour. It was nowhere near midnight, but more sensible souls were still tucked inside by roaring fires or enjoying late suppers.</p>
<p>“If it’s you, Mr. Jenkins, I promise I will be out by tomorrow, so I won’t owe you rent,” Bucky offered as he headed for the door.”</p>
<p>“It’s not Mr. Jenkins.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <i>Steve.</i>
</p>
<p>That was his voice. Bucky’s hand hovered over the door knob, trembling, and he felt his knees try to give out.</p>
<p>He mastered himself and opened the door to Steve. He was standing there, bundled in clothing that Bucky didn’t recognize. The coat looked expensive and well tailored. He wore a top hat that seemed out of place for him, although it was certainly dapper. His beard and hair were both neatly trimmed. And his expression…</p>
<p>Beseeching. Filled with concern. Anxious.</p>
<p>“Hello, Steve.”</p>
<p>“Hello, Bucky. May I come inside?”</p>
<p>Bucky’s insides twisted. “I suppose. I’ve enjoyed <i>your</i> hospitality. Perhaps it’s high time you’ve experienced mine.”</p>
<p>Bucky backed up and allowed Steve to come inside, giving him a wide berth. Steve’s brows drew together as he took in Bucky’s stiff posture and discomfiture. There was no way for Steve to guess that Bucky’s hands itched to touch him. He removed his hat and began to unbutton his coat. Then he paused.</p>
<p>“Is it all right if I take his off?”</p>
<p>“If you like. If you’ll even be staying that long. Here, let me stoke up the fire.” Bucky used the iron to turn the log in the grate and added narrower ones to feed the flames. “How did you find me?”</p>
<p>“Clint. I asked him where you lived, when you weren’t on my farm.”</p>
<p>“I suppose it’s fortunate that he told you before tomorrow. You wouldn’t have found me.”</p>
<p>Steve stiffened. “Why?”</p>
<p>“Because I’m leaving soon. My father has made me an offer that I find I can’t refuse. And it’s important to reach for opportunities when they present themselves.” Bucky’s voice was level, but he had dark circles under his eyes. And there was no life in them. No spark.</p>
<p>“Yes, it is.” Steve removed his coat and hung it over the back of one of Bucky’s few chairs. Bucky frowned when he noticed Steve’s clothing again.</p>
<p>“You’re dressed so...extravagantly, Steve.”</p>
<p>Steve touched his cravat nervously. “You don’t like it?”</p>
<p>“It… takes some getting used to.”</p>
<p>“I could visit the bank in the same clothes I would plow my fields in, but they might not take me seriously when I attempt to discuss matters of business.”</p>
<p>Bucky stopped what he was doing and slowly set aside the fire iron. “What are you talking about, Steve?”</p>
<p>“I thought that ‘I visited the bank today’ was implied by what I said, but… Bucky, I visited the bank.”</p>
<p>Steve attempted levity. Bucky rewarded him with a ghost of a smile. Bucky waved him over to sit in the chair holding his coat while he filled his kettle from a water pitcher and set it on the stove for tea. He lit it and pulled out his only two cups from the cabinet and brought out the last of his tea leaves.</p>
<p>“I borrowed the suit from Sam. We are close to the same size. I spent all day on Christmas in a suit. It felt like I was wearing my father’s clothes,” he scoffed.</p>
<p>“The bank was closed on Christmas Day. Why did you need to wear a suit?”</p>
<p>“Because, I hoped - well, Sam hoped that it would impress his father’s friends. Sam invited me to supper.” Steve toyed with the end of his cravat and then unbuttoned his suit jacket, too, finding it stifling now that the room was beginning to warm. Bucky’s eyes flitted over Steve’s long fingers working open the fastenings, and it gave him a visceral, too-recent memory of watching Steve undress. It was almost too much. “And he displayed my paintings.”</p>
<p>“Your paintings.”</p>
<p>“Yes. The rest of them. I… Johann told me that he sold the painting that he displayed in his store for me. To you.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Bucky confirmed. “I gave it to my mother. She loves it. It’s now hanging in her dining room. I didn’t tell her where it came from.”</p>
<p>Pain flickered in Steve’s eyes, and Bucky hardened himself against it.</p>
<p>“Bucky. Damn it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was so hard to want to reach out to Steve and pull him in, when Bucky knew perfectly well what he had to do. But he forced himself to remain calm, and to listen to Steve, even though it wouldn’t change anything between them.</p>
<p>The memory of his shame still burned inside him. <i>I know what I did wrong. I don’t blame you for casting me out.</i></p>
<p>Bucky shrugged and smiled. “It was a beautiful work, Steve.”</p>
<p>“You paid far too much for it. Even after Johann took his consignment fee for displaying it, that was still far too much money, Bucky!”</p>
<p>“Hardly. You should work for what you’re worth, Steve. I wish I could have afforded to pay more, but-”</p>
<p>Bucky waved him off instead of finishing that statement. He needed a moment. He scrubbed his palm over his jaw and leaned against the edge of the table.</p>
<p>“Have you always been called Bucky?”</p>
<p>“My sister gave me that name. She prefers it. As do I. But Father felt I would be taken more seriously if I used my given, Christian name. My classmates at Pembroke called me Bucky. My professors simply called me Mr. Barnes.” Bucky chuckled dryly. “It made me think they were addressing my father, for a while.”</p>
<p>“So, it was easy for you to answer to that name. Whenever you were on my farm, working with Billy and me.”</p>
<p>“Yes. I suppose… that I wanted to hear you say my own name, in your voice. It was important to me.” Bucky turned to face him. “Knowing you was so important to me.”</p>
<p>“You wanted to know a penniless, dirty farmer with little education and no prospects?”</p>
<p>“You have plenty of prospects.”</p>
<p>“No. I just have much better friends than I deserve.”</p>
<p>“Why are you here, Steve?” Bucky finally asked.</p>
<p>“Because I wanted to share my news. And there are some things I need to tell you. And, perhaps, some things that I need to ask you, Bucky.”</p>
<p>Bucky shook his head and smiled, but Steve rose from his seat. Bucky attempted to fiddle with the tea, but Steve reached out and gently stilled his hands. Steve winced when he felt Bucky stiffen.</p>
<p>“Will you please come and sit with me?” Steve swallowed against the tightness in this throat. “Please, Bucky?”</p>
<p>“The last time I saw you, I gathered the distinct impression that you no longer wished to know me. Because you didn’t <i>truly</i> know me. And I promised myself that I would abide by your wishes.”</p>
<p>“My wishes have changed considerably since then, and I would appreciate it if you would please just come over here and sit down, so that we can talk.” Steve’s thumbs caressed Bucky’s knuckles. Bucky felt himself shiver from the warmth of his skin and Steve’s gentleness. He plucked the spoon and the jar of tea leaves from Bucky’s hands, and Bucky allowed him to lead him toward the two chairs. Steve gently pushed Bucky down into the chair and pulled his own close, so close that when he sat down, their knees touched. And then, Steve reached for Bucky’s hands again.</p>
<p>“Sam’s father’s friends purchased <i>all</i> of my paintings, Bucky. Like you, they spent what I would normally consider <i>far too much</i>. The last time I sold a painting before this, the money went toward feed and some kerosene. And there was never time to paint anything else. Not when there was so much work left to do on the farm. Art is my passion, Bucky, but it’s a luxury.” He squeezed Bucky’s fingers and stared down at them, noticing that they weren’t finely manicured anymore. Bucky’s palms had grown slightly calloused from hard work, and traces of dirt could be seen under his short nails. Steve’s thumb traced over the bumpy veins revealed by Bucky’s fair, smooth skin. “I never thought to make a living with my art. Yet, through the favor Sam granted me, I managed to sell my entire collection. I went to the bank, and I took the money from the sales and demanded that they accept it as payment toward the deed. I paid it down considerably, but interest has compiled on the balance. But, I’m much closer to paying it off than I was four months ago. I have a chance, Bucky. I truly have a chance to pay off the deed and secure my property. I can satisfy the terms of your father’s contract-”</p>
<p>His words died off as Bucky laughed, shaking his head. He pulled one of his hands free and wiped at his eyes.</p>
<p>“Satisfy the terms,” Bucky cried. “Oh, Stevie. You will never have to worry about my father’s terms going forward.”</p>
<p>“Bucky-”</p>
<p>“Don’t you see? I’ve taken care of that for you.”</p>
<p>“What are you talking about?”</p>
<p>“I’ve managed to convince my father to grant you leniency on your debt.”</p>
<p>Steve frowned. “No. You don’t have to, that’s… Bucky. No. I can manage it, now. I’m going to pay off the deed myself! I don’t care if I have to hire more workers to help me make the farm more productive, I will do this, somehow! If I need to, I can paint again! I won’t be shortsighted or stubborn about this anymore!”</p>
<p>“You don’t understand.” Bucky pulled his hands free and laid one of them on Steve’s arm, squeezing it. “You will have the full two months, now. My father told me that he was going to call in your debt tomorrow. I convinced him not to.”</p>
<p>“How?” Steve’s voice sounded strangled and hard.</p>
<p>“I’m going to go to work for him. No more gallivanting around the town, visiting our neighbors and pretending that I know anything about how they run their farms to grow my father the most profit. He’s sending me to the Americas. I leave for New York in a fortnight.”</p>
<p>Steve shook his head, but Bucky nodded sadly, giving Steve a watery smile.</p>
<p>“You <i>can’t</i>.”</p>
<p>“Why do you care? I lied to you.”</p>
<p>“And I didn’t accept what my eyes and ears were telling me. Sam told me what an idiot I’ve been, and he was right. I <i>hate</i> it when he’s right. Somehow, some part of me knew who you were. But there was no sound, feasible reason why the man I left at the altar should follow me to my farm, and…” Steve shook his head, and he was breathing hard. He reached up and loosened the despised cravat, finally removing it and tossing it aside. “You offered me advice, and you dirtied your hands, working with me. Helping me. You cared for me while I was ailing. And I know you purchased supplies, Bucky. You had no business doing that-”</p>
<p>“Why wouldn’t I invest in one of the farms that puts food on my own table?” Bucky countered. “Why wouldn’t I support you, when my father once arranged for us to be married?”</p>
<p>“Because I left you behind. Because I was a <i>coward.</i>”</p>
<p>“No, you weren’t-”</p>
<p>“Yes, I was. I was a damned coward. I couldn’t face you, because I didn’t know how I would live up to your expectations. You were going to be marrying down, Bucky. I was in debt to the bank, and to your father. That’s no way to start out a proper marriage. I never had the chance to court you or know you properly, and suddenly, your father was throwing an engagement party. And the morning came, and I was in the back of the church, waiting. With no prospects and so little to offer. And like a coward, I ran. I didn’t deserve you. Not your friendship, and certainly not your affections.”</p>
<p>“You’ve always had my friendship, Stevie. From the very beginning.”</p>
<p>“I could never-”</p>
<p>“You have. From the beginning. Just… sit here.” Bucky rose and pried himself away from Steve, even though it was difficult; in close proximity, Bucky could still bask in his warmth, his scent, and still see affection and concern shining in his soft blue eyes. “I took something from you some time ago, and it’s past time that I return it.”</p>
<p>Bucky went into his trunk filled with books, and he found the leatherbound novel embossed in gold. He opened it and removed a folded piece of paper. It was yellowed with age and it looked familiar.</p>
<p>“What’s that?”</p>
<p>“I wrote this to you, once. It was tucked away in your book of fairy tales. It was wrong of me to take it, so I’m returning it to you now. But, I remember this letter. I wrote it that day, at school, before my father sent me away to Eton. I was so proud that I had used my best handwriting. I didn’t want you to have hard feelings after what happened out in the yard, when Gilbert was teasing you. And hurting you. And you seemed just as angry at me for interfering, Steve, but I couldn’t watch him hurt you.” Bucky handed Steve the note, and Steve frowned down at it.</p>
<p>And when he looked at Bucky again, shock registered across his features.</p>
<p>“You were that James?”</p>
<p>“Yes. And I wanted very much to be your friend.”</p>
<p>Steve unfolded it and let his eyes roam over the childish letters. “And I wanted very much to be yours, James.” Steve’s hand trembled as he tucked the note into his vest pocket. “And I still do. And right now, you’re telling me that your father is about to <i>take you away from me again.</i> We aren’t boys anymore, and I’m afraid I can’t let him do that.”</p>
<p>Bucky felt the blood rushing in his ears. He grew slightly faint.</p>
<p>“You can’t do anything to change my mind. I’m going to New York, my father will honor his end of your contract, and you will have the best chance of keeping your farm.”</p>
<p>“And I don’t want it if I can’t have <i>you</i>! Damn it, Bucky, please listen to me!” </p>
<p>“Don’t fight me on this, Stevie!”</p>
<p>“It’s not a home without you. My house. My farm. None of it. None of it means anything if I can’t be with you, James Barnes. You have my heart.”</p>
<p>“Stevie-”</p>
<p>“I love you, Bucky. Or James, or whatever you prefer to be called from now on, but <i>I love you</i> and I can’t bear it if you walk away from me, cross the ocean, and never let me see you again. I don’t know that I can ever make this up to your father. I know I hurt his pride. And yours.” And Steve’s eyes were burning. His voice was wavering and desperate, and Bucky could no longer keep himself beyond arm’s reach. Wordlessly, Bucky stepped between Steve’s spread knees and let Steve pull him into his arms. Steve’s arms coiled around Bucky’s waist and he buried his face in his chest. Bucky’s heart pounded and his breathing was uneven; Steve felt so warm and solid, and Bucky breathed in the miracle of his scent, clutching at his thick waves of hair. His palm stroked Steve’s back in a firm, needy caress. Steve felt Bucky’s lips traveling over his scalp and heard him sniffling.</p>
<p>“I was going to be brave,” Bucky told him. “I was going to try so hard to be brave, but I can’t. You’ve managed on so little for so long, and carried a burden you didn’t deserve, and you still come to me and tell me that you can manage this without any leniency on my father’s part. Father was right. He’s coddled me for far too long, and it’s led to this. I love you, too, Stevie, and I can’t give you up.”</p>
<p>Steve clung to him, and all he heard was “Bucky… my Bucky…” between his low sobs. </p>
<p>The kettle blew, but they ignored its shrill whistling for a few moments longer and just drank each other in. </p>
<p>“I don’t know how we’re going to manage, but I love you so much. You have my heart, Stevie.”</p>
<p>“We’ll manage. We will. We will, if you just don’t leave, please. Please, sweetheart.”</p>
<p>“I’m terrible at farm work. The most I can do is manage the books.”</p>
<p>“You had some strong ideas. You were right about Johann. He was cheating us on the cost of the feed. We can buy it from somewhere else. And some of Sam’s parents’ friends own shops in town. They said we can sell some of our goods there, not just at the outdoor market. We need to consider doing things differently.”</p>
<p>When Bucky drew back and stared down into Steve’s face, his expression was bleak. “We could still fail.”</p>
<p>“We won’t. The two of us won’t, if we stay together. I want to give you the life you deserve. I can only do that if I own the farm debt-free, and I can’t promise that we won’t struggle.”</p>
<p>“You said yourself that we will need to do things differently. And we will. But you need to do something for me first, Stevie.”</p>
<p>“Name it.”</p>
<p>Bucky wiped away Steve’s tears and cradled his jaw in his hand. “Propose to me. Properly. Not because my father made you an offer or because you were burdened.”</p>
<p>Steve shook his head, and he smiled up at him before kissing his palm. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my husband, James Barnes?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I will, Steve Rogers.” Bucky leaned down and kissed him with slow, quiet passion. Steve’s arms tightened around him while the kettle continued to whistle. Bucky withdrew and leaned his forehead against Steve’s. “Let me go turn that off.”</p>
<p>“Hurry back.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I will. And I’m going to need you to do me a favor, Stevie.” Bucky went to the stove and took the kettle from the flame.</p>
<p>“Name it.”</p>
<p>“Take off that horrible suit. I can’t look at it for a moment longer.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They stumbled together into Bucky’s room, unable to keep their hands off of each other a moment longer. Steve peeled Bucky out of his dressing robe, shirt and breeches while Bucky wrestled with the rows of buttons down Steve’s vest and shirt. The cufflinks in his shirt cuffs clinked as they landed on the floor. Steve’s trousers dropped down around his ankles moments later, and he nearly tripped as he stepped out of them. Bucky fell backward against the bed and sat down with the momentum, glad for the vantage point this gave him; it was easier to undress Steve while he was sitting down.</p>
<p>“It’s been too long,” he rasped.</p>
<p>“I’ve missed you,” Steve agreed between kisses, as he drank them from Bucky’s mouth.</p>
<p>Bucky’s hands parted the flaps of Steve’s shirt and peeled it down his arms, and he stroked the hard, sculpted planes of his chest and waist. Bucky tugged at the buttons on Steve’s breeches until Steve unfastened them himself, and when they dropped to the floor, he was blessedly, beautifully bare. Bucky reached for him, stroking his manhood as he kissed Steve’s abdomen. Steve shuddered; he was already leaking from the tip and fully erect. But, when Bucky leaned in to take Steve into his mouth, Steve stopped him. Bucky furrowed his brow and gave him an adorable look of confusion.</p>
<p>“No. Not this time. You’re going to let me spoil you. Slowly. Completely.”</p>
<p>“Stevie-”</p>
<p>But Steve cut off the rest of Bucky’s halfhearted argument with another kiss, harder and more insistent, and Bucky whimpered when Steve caught his lower lip between his teeth and gently sucked on it. Bucky hooked his heel around the back of Steve’s calf as Steve urged him backward, and within moments, Bucky was groaning at the sensation of skin on skin when Steve covered him fully. </p>
<p>Steve’s hands and mouth roamed over Bucky’s body. Bucky clutched at Steve, tugging on his hair and letting their limbs tangle together. He tipped his head back into the pillow, eyes shuttering with the pleasure he received. He let his thighs sag open to give Steve access, and he cried out in earnest when Steve engulfed him in his lush heat.</p>
<p>Bucky forgot about the tea and the cufflinks and the trunks. He focused on the man making slow love to him and on their upcoming, inevitable challenge. They would make it work. <i>They had to make it work.</i> Bucky wouldn’t let the world take anything else from Steve Rogers. Not without a fight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>New Year’s Day dawned bright and blinding as the sunlight glanced off the windowpanes and the snow gathered there. </p>
<p>Bucky squirmed awake to the sensation of strong limbs wrapped around him and warmth at his back. <i>Steve.</i> He’d enveloped Bucky during the night. They were tangled up in the heavy covers, and Steve’s warm breath misted over Bucky’s nape and stirred his hair. Bucky’s hand covered Steve’s for a moment, and he smiled, sighing.</p>
<p>“Good morning, James.”</p>
<p>“Good morning, Steven.”</p>
<p>That earned him a low snicker. Steve’s mouth peppered Bucky’s flesh with tiny kisses, and Bucky ground his backside against Steve, arching back into his embrace.</p>
<p>“I would love to continue this, but I have some unwanted errands to finish this morning.”</p>
<p>“Do you need me to help?”</p>
<p>“Yes.” Bucky didn’t hesitate or hedge. Steve felt a brief swell of pride.</p>
<p>“I’m here.”</p>
<p>“I love you.”</p>
<p>“I love <i>you</i>.”</p>
<p>“Happy New Year, Stevie.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p><i>Epilogue</i>:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The poppies were Becca’s idea.</p>
<p>Every vase and epergne in Steve’s house and all of the tables set up outside the barn were stuffed with daisies and poppies, an homage to Steve’s paintings. So many of the landscape paintings that he sold over Christmas featured them. Bucky considered them a sign of good fortune, and whenever he rode home to Steve, he would bring back a bouquet of them for the dinner table. Bucky never purchased a proper carriage during that first year, despite Winifred’s frequent admonitions. She spoke to him much sooner than George did, but it still took <i>months</i>.</p>
<p>Bucky never set foot in New York. Steve’s farm was his sole focus. Bucky offered his well wishes to his father’s associates and informed the Rasputins, the Guthries, and every other farming family that he worked for that he would be their neighbor from now on, not their manager. As he continued to accompany Steve at the farmer’s market, Bucky hand-delivered invitations to their nuptials, making his earliest visits as the cherry blossoms appeared that spring.</p>
<p>The opal cufflinks went back to the jewelry store. Bucky used the money to invest in new equipment for Steve, as well as to replenish his supply of paints. Bucky rehired Scott and Hank with the last of his meager funds, and as the weather warmed, Bucky and Steve sold off new calves and piglets once they were weaned. They knocked on doors of every business in town and offered their wares for sale, and soon, jars of pickled foods and artfully wrapped cheeses were displayed on those stores’ shelves.</p>
<p>Steve worked as hard as he ever had, as did Billy, and now, Teddy joined them against Billy’s fervent disagreements.</p>
<p>“It’s not up to you to try to clean up our mess, because it’s <i>our</i> mess,” Billy told him, gesturing to himself and Steve, and now, to Bucky.</p>
<p>“Well, it just so happens that <i>you</i> are <i>my mess</i>, William Kaplan. You can’t think for one bloody minute that I’ll keep sitting idle while you work yourself to exhaustion and never leave time for us? Because if so, you, sir, are absolutely <i>daft.</i>”</p>
<p>That earned him some sputtering that Teddy silenced with a kiss, leaving Billy blushing several shades of scarlet. Teddy took the ax from him, plucking it from Billy’s grasp, and he informed him, “I’ll take care of the firewood. You promised me one of your sandwiches.”</p>
<p>They didn’t even <i>try</i> to hide that they were courting, from then on.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>On the morning of the wedding, the church was even more packed than it had been for Bucky and Steve’s previously aborted nuptials. If the banners and runners were less opulent this time, and if the presentation and decor were much more modest, no one commented on it. George made no bones about informing Bucky that he was on his own to pay for the ceremony, this time, all the way down to the last sip of wine. </p>
<p>But this time, every guest was a school classmate, business associate, fellow farmer, and mutual friend of both the grooms. Becca sang once again, proudly and with such emotion that it brought tears to many eyes. She wore the same gown, but this time, with one special addition.</p>
<p>The modest diamond on her left ring finger.</p>
<p>She rejoined Clint in the pew and took his hand as she sat, letting his hand curl around hers. He smiled and leaned in, kissing her cheek.</p>
<p>“That was beautiful.”</p>
<p>“I still always get so nervous, singing at things like these.”</p>
<p>“Never fear, sweetheart. You won’t have to sing at our wedding.”</p>
<p>“Thank goodness. I felt like enough of a spectacle at my coming-out ball.” Becca grinned up at him. “Thank you for filling so many spaces on my dance card.”</p>
<p>“It was my genuine pleasure, Rebecca.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Logan leaned over to poke Scott and asked on a loud whisper, “Are we sure we’ve got both the grooms, this time?”</p>
<p>“Sam assured me that he won’t take his eyes off of Steve for a second, this time,” he replied, eyes gleaming smugly. “It helps that Steve and Bucky have actually met each other, this time.”</p>
<p>“The fact that they hadn’t the last time we gathered here for a wedding between those two still boggles my mind,” Hank muttered. </p>
<p>Winifred and George came down the aisle as the wedding march began, and they escorted Bucky between them. He was beaming and radiant, no sign of nervousness to be found. He was handsome in his charcoal gray suit and burgundy cravat, clean shaven, nails manicured, and looking every inch the successful co-owner of a now-thriving farm. Winifred kissed his cheek, and George gave his hand a grudging squeeze, thought better of it, and stepped forward to hug him. It was halting and awkward, but Bucky felt his eyes burn with emotion.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Father. For being here.”</p>
<p>“I mean well. I’ve <i>always</i> meant well,” George murmured. “Know that, son.”</p>
<p>Bucky nodded, and George and Winifred stepped aside as the crowd waited breathlessly for the other groom.</p>
<p>The music droned on, and the piano player started another refrain when she noticed that no one was coming down the aisle. She played it louder, hoping it would signal the second groom to take his place.</p>
<p>Sam crept out from the alcove at the back of the church and held up his hand. “Give us just a moment,” he beckoned apologetically.</p>
<p>Bucky huffed, and his hands began to sweat.</p>
<p>But then the church erupted into cheers as Steve stepped into view. He was smiling and blushing furiously as Sam escorted him forward, standing up for him in the absence of his parents.</p>
<p>Steve wore his same suit from the previous ceremony, but this time, he wore a boutonniere of lavender and thistle pinned to his lapel, plants that grew in his own fields. He also had a pocketwatch hanging from an elegant gold fob, a gift from his groom as a personal joke and a reminder for him to attend the church <i>on time</i>.</p>
<p>Sam was beaming as he marched Steve down the aisle and presented him to Bucky. The vicar grinned, ignoring his usual somberness.</p>
<p>“Nice of you to have arrived,” he mused. “May we now begin?”</p>
<p>Steve ignored the knot in his stomach. “Please.”</p>
<p>“Splendid. Dearly beloved, we are gathered here…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As the ceremony proceeded, there was no longer a dry eye in the house. Bucky and Steve recited their vows with true emotion, unable to look away from each other. Yet, when it came time for the vicar to ask them to confirm their intent to marry…</p>
<p>“Do you, James, take Steve to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold-”</p>
<p>“Of course not,” Bucky pronounced, making the smile drop from Steve’s face in an instant.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>Winifred gasped and fanned herself. Becca squeaked. Sam’s eyes grew very, very large.</p>
<p>And Bucky bit his lip.</p>
<p>“Don’t be ridiculous, of <i>course</i> I do,” he recanted, reaching out and poking Steve in the ribs.</p>
<p>A bubble of laughter escaped Steve, and he swiped at the corner of his eye. “You’re terrible.”</p>
<p>“I know.”</p>
<p>“I love you.”</p>
<p>“I know, Steve.”</p>
<p>“May I finish?” the vicar asked calmly.</p>
<p>“Yes, please,” Bucky allowed as he took Steve’s hand.</p>
<p>The “I do’s” went forth without incident, and Bucky kissed Steve with true passion. They emerged from the church amid cheers and mild afternoon sunshine.</p>
<p>Steve and James. Childhood friends. Business partners. Husbands. Farmers. Both “Mr. Rogers,” now, and Steve was quick to remind Bucky that there would never be any question of his true name again.</p>
<p>Bucky really had no quarrel with this.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>FIN.</p>
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